


The Survivors

by Eligh



Series: The Survivors [3]
Category: Star Trek: Alternate Original Series (Movies)
Genre: Aftermath of Torture, Amnesia, Angst, Explicit Sexual Content, M/M, Psychological Trauma, Rebellion, War
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-08-05
Updated: 2012-08-05
Packaged: 2017-11-11 11:20:23
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 19
Words: 95,812
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/477982
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Eligh/pseuds/Eligh
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Federation has been torn apart by an invading alien force, and Spock, now a rebel, has had everything he once cared about ripped from him. But a chance raid on a prison produces an unlikely survivor, and with his rescue, Spock's life begins to come back into focus.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

The bridge of the  _Enterprise_  was currently in chaos. The navigation console was on fire and Sulu was sprawled (hopefully merely unconscious) on the ground nearby. Chekhov had maintained his position, but was clearly frightened, shooting increasingly panicked looks at the readouts under his flying fingers.

"Down to fiwe percent shields, Keptin!" he shouted, "We're losing containment on decks theerten though twenty-four!"

Jim was standing behind his chair, bracing himself against the increasingly violent shaking of the ship. His mouth was pressed into a thin line, but he otherwise looked calm.

He started firing off orders, directing medics toward Sulu when they tumbled onto the bridge, instructing diversions of power to (hopefully) strengthen their shields, ordering an Ensign to take over the navigation. Spock was standing over the weapons array—replacing Ensign Jones after she'd been knocked unconscious after the first initial surprise attack. He watched the scene unfolding before him and concentrated on doing what he could to save the ship.

"Captain!" Uhura suddenly shouted, raising her voice to be heard above the blaring alarms. "We're being hailed." Spock was dismayed to see a large gash across her forehead, but Uhura hadn't seemed to notice it.

"Onscreen," Jim said. “Someone turn those alarms off.” His face mostly blank, but there was a glint in his eye that Spock easily read as fury. Uhura pressed the necessary buttons, and a smirking light green face appeared on the view screen a moment after silence settled on the bridge. It was no species they were familiar with—its mouth was ringed with sharp mandibles, and it sported large segmented antennae. Its eyes were black ink drop pools.

"I will speak to the captain of your vessel. Kirk, I believe," the insect-like alien buzzed, its pinchers clicking lazily.

"I'm Captain James Kirk of the Federation Starship  _Enterprise_. Explain why you've attacked us unprovoked," Jim ordered, squaring his shoulders and looking the alien straight on.

Spock took the lull in weapons fire as an opportunity, and deftly adjusted power levels, diverting more to the containment shields. They could not allow decompression of the hull. Across the bridge, Chekhov blinked and flashed him a grateful look. Spock acknowledged him with a slight nod, then turned his attention to increasing their weapons range.

Suddenly, Spock's hands faltered over his console—something was wrong. There was a presence growing in his awareness, and invader in his thoughts. Entirely unable to stop himself, Spock let out a small gasp when he felt the presence press deeper into his mind. Jim looked to him, eyes widening with worry, and Spock fought to keep himself under control. Whatever that was, the captain did _not_ need this right now.

But when he shakily refocused on the view screen, the alien was watching him with what could only be described as a leer. Jim's face lost a hint of its steel and he paled, looking between Spock and the alien, obviously confused as to why the creature was showing an undue interest in his first officer. Spock made eye contact with Jim and shook his head minutely—showing worry for any specific person could be a sign of weakness to be exploited.

"You have a telepath on board. How unfortunate for him." That buzzing voice commented, almost softly, and its antennae twitched. There was a beat of nothing, then Spock gasped and dropped to his knees, entirely unable to control his bodily responses—his entire being seemingly exploded in agony. His mental shields, normally strong enough to fend off any sort of telepathic attack, had just been ripped to shreds like tissue paper.

Everything narrowed to the touch of his hands. He felt cool metal under his fingers and instantly knew the history of every being that had touched this piece of the ship—from a metalworker on Earth to the ensign previously manning the station. His brain screamed in protest at the overwhelming information dump, but he was frozen. He couldn't move. He couldn't even twitch his hands, and it was going to kill him.

He had never experienced this level of intense telepathic interference. It was too much, and the metal under his fingers suddenly felt superheated, burning. The sensations crawled up his arms, into his abdomen, wrapped around his heart and lungs and he was on fire, being consumed from the inside out. From a distance, he heard himself let out a soft sob.

From a distance, he head Jim yelling at the screen, demanding the alien stop whatever it was that they were doing to him. Spock collapsed in seeming slow-motion to the floor of the bridge, trying to fight against the whatever-it-was, but he was utterly helpless in the alien's crushing telepathic wake.

But then the pain was fading and Jim was helping him to his feet, supporting his weight, leading him to the turbolift.

"What…" Spock tried to speak, but Jim shook his head, simply palmed the door shut and clung tighter to Spock’s arm. Unacceptable. Spock took a deep breath, forced his body to stabilize (it screamed in protest, but complied) and slowly, so slowly, he stood on his own, stepped back from the captain, and looked him square in the eye. "Jim. What happened." It was a measure of his jumbled mind that he only realized the lift was moving when Jim reached out a hand to stop it.

"Are you all right?" the captain asked softly.

Spock considered his mental shields and shakily started rebuilding them. Disconcertingly, he could feel Jim's emotions buzzing, though they were not touching; could feel his worry and fear. This was unsettling, but otherwise he seemed acceptable, and now that he recognized the path the alien had taken to worm into his brain, he felt that he stood at least a chance of fighting them off.

"I am able to bring myself back under control. I will not be compromised in such a manner again." Spock said, and was surprised to hear a rasp in his voice. "Please inform me as to what transpired on the bridge while I was indisposed."

"Just…" Jim hesitated and chewed his lip. "How did they do that? You're a _touch_ telepath, how did they hurt you? "

"I do not know," Spock admitted, starting now to feel as if he were in control of his self once again. "I have never experienced an attack like it." He attempted to keep his voice from shaking, and was mostly successful.

Jim gave him a long look, then said softly, "It's… They made a demand. I'm going over there." He sounded like he couldn’t believe the words he was saying, and Spock widened his eyes in similar disbelief. But Jim was going on: "They said they could affect you like that because you're a telepath—which I _still_ don't understand, by the way, cause you weren't  _touching_ anything—and you were the easiest target. They said they could do to the rest of the crew what they did to you. They demanded I present myself as a hostage." Jim hung his head for a moment before looking up and meeting Spock’s eyes. “We’re out of options, Mister Spock.”

"No," Spock disagreed, feeling panic start to curl around his heart. He clenched his hands behind his back. "You cannot do this. Allow me to go in your place."

"We don't have a choice, Spock. And they were specific—they wanted me." Jim stepped forward, cupped Spock's face in his hand. "They'll kill everyone, Spock, if I don't do this. There is _no_ _choice_. Psi-null beings won't survive a telepathic attack. Please…"

Spock closed his eyes, brought his hand up to cover Jim's for a moment, and took another breath. Then he released his grip and straightened his spine, staring past his captain toward the wall of the turbolift. "I… understand, Jim. What are your orders?"

Jim didn't answer and instead took a step closer, pressing against him. He pulled Spock's head to his, forcing him to meet his eyes before brushing their lips together. And feeling like he was breaking, Spock pressed back, closing his eyes and tilting his head. They kissed ferociously for short (entirely too short) seconds—Spock slid his hands around Jim's waist, pulling his captain even tighter, and Jim threaded one hand into Spock's hair, tugging slightly too sharply.

They broke apart, breathing hard, but didn't let go of each other. Jim rested his forehead against Spock's and whispered, "This… I'm gonna be fine, and you're gonna get the crew to safety, and everything will be all right." Spock nodded and didn't point out that the statistical probability of Jim surviving when he willingly handed himself over to hostile aliens was so small that it was, for all practical purposes, an impossibility.

Jim pressed forward slightly again, caught Spock's lips, and simultaneously stroked his fingers down Spock's palm. "I love you," he breathed, and then stepped back before Spock could respond, instantly becoming the captain again. He reached out and restarted the lift. "Head to Deep Space Two. Repair the ship. Save yourselves. If you can, get reinforcements and come get me."

"Yes sir," Spock responded, and the lift doors opened. They walked in silence to the transport room and once there, Jim stepped to the transport pad, not breaking eye contact. Spock watched him dematerialize and tried very hard to not think about how doubted he would ever see Jim again.

Seconds after Jim was gone, Spock spun and made his way back to the bridge as fast as possible. When he reemerged from the lift, the blind terror of the crew had been replaced by frenzied action. The fires were out, and Spock snapped, "Lieutenant, report." He didn't bother to mask the grief in his voice.

Uhura looked at him with wide eyes. "Spock… are you…" Her eyes flickered, and she pressed a finger to her headset. "We're being hailed again, sir."

"Onscreen," Spock grated, taking a seat in Jim’s chair, and the video flickered to life. Spock narrowed his eyes at the face on the screen.

"Hello, telepath," the alien sneered. "We wanted to thank you for complying with our demands. Now, we have a message for the Federation.” It paused, undoubtedly for dramatic effect, and then said grandly, “The Vehsin have arrived. We chose you, the  _Enterprise_ , as the best messenger for our intentions." The alien beckoned to something out of view of the screen, and suddenly, Jim was pushed into sight.

His hands were bound, and his lip was bloodied. Spock tightened his grip on Jim’s chair.

"Do you have anything to say to your crew?" the alien purred. He produced a gun of some type and pressed it against Jim's temple.

Jim looked to the view screen, locked eyes with Spock. "It'll be all right," he said softly. "You're the best crew in the universe, you can make it be all right."

"Any final messages for your first officer?"

Spock closed his eyes for a moment. He did not want to hear Jim's goodbyes. But he could not block out Jim's voice—it sank into his skin, wrapped around him. Spock suddenly felt like he was freezing.

"He knows."

Spock opened his eyes, stared at his captain. Jim flashed him that cocky smile, (made slightly less effective by a hint of sadness in his eyes) then turned to his captors. "And I have a message for you, too. This act of violence will not stand. We've beaten worse than you, you fucking—"

There was a whine of an energy gun being discharged, and Spock blankly watched his captain (with whom he shared a life, a bed, and an almost frightening amount of love) as he collapsed to an alien deck.

Ensign Avers let out a soft sob, and from a distance, Spock heard her say "We've lost Captain Kirk's life signal.” Spock looked up at the alien (shocking himself at the amount of hatred that coursed through his veins) and ground out:

"That was a mistake."

The alien grinned. "I think not. Tell your Federation masters that we have killed the best captain in their fleet. Tell them to expect this treatment to every member of your pathetic alliance."

The screen went blank. 


	2. Thern IV

It had been three years since James Kirk was murdered on the bridge of an alien ship, and the known universe was ripped apart.

The United Federation of Planets was long since dissolved, and all citizens live (in a manner of speaking) under the dictatorship of the Vehsins. Other species and races suffered the same fate—Klingons and Romulans and Humans and Vulcans were united in their subjugation.

The actual war was swift and merciless. Vehsins proved to be powerful telepaths and used their unique skills to torture and drive insane those that stood against them. They saw other telepathic races as threats—the Betazoids were entirely purged, as were the majority of Vulcans. Any other being exhibiting telepathic tendencies was placed in 'reprogramming' centers, and most never reemerged.

Spock himself was imprisoned for long months, accused of 'inciting traitorous actions', and was driven far past the brink of insanity. He was mercilessly tortured, both physically and mentally, and when he was finally reduced to a mindless puddle, he was released—labeled 'reprogrammed,'—to serve as an example to those that wished to rise against the Vehsin overlords.

Christopher Pike found him after his release and brought him to Brazil, where the Terran resistance hid among the trees of the Amazon jungle. It was months before Spock was able to have even a semblance of normalcy, but Pike goaded him into healing, telling him several times that he was fairly sure he was getting better simply to spite the Vehsins.

Spock privately agreed with this assessment—he certainly didn't think his healing had anything to do with his own desire to continue.

A year after his release, due to the mental scars within his mind left behind from the reprogramming, Spock was still not able to control his emotions with traditional Vulcan methods, and so he gave up trying. It was pointless to persevere in an exercise that had no hope of success—feeling emotions would not kill him. So he focused his efforts elsewhere—namely, the resistance.

He stole a ship—a stealth fighter based on Romulan bird-of-prey designs—and for the past fourteen months had spent every waking moment fighting against the Vehsins. The  _Yeht-gav_  was fast and had a cloaking device—something that had allowed Spock to get out of tight situations more times than he could count. She was sturdy and dependable, and Spock could fly her solo if the need arose.

A week after he had stolen his ship, he snuck aboard a prison transport with the intent to kill her commander and had been pleasantly surprised to find his brother already aboard. Sybok had been captured and was due for execution, but thanks to his unique talents, he had managed to overpower his guards and escape. Spock encountered him in the act of poising a knife over the Vehsin commander’s throat, and one quick conversation later, Sybok finished his actions.

A quick slice put them in control of the ship, and together they freed the rest of the prisoners before crashing the transport (which was actually one of the larger ships in their fleet) into a Vehsin space station. This act remained one of the largest victories of the resistance, though they did not anticipate the ship’s recording units to continue functioning. They were caught in the ship’s automatic logs and instantly were catapulted to the top of the Vehsins’ most wanted list.

In the aftermath (Spock learned quickly that being a wanted fugitive made one’s actions limited) Sybok suggested they stick together—after all, they now more than ever were alone in the universe. Spock, not one to hold grudges, and now finding his brother’s wholehearted acceptance of emotions less confusing, agreed without hesitation.

After finding Sybok, Spock's next stroke of luck happened during a raid of an outlying Vehsin base. He and Sybok instigated the raid with the intent to steal medicine that the Vehsins were denying needy colonists. But instead of medicine, he had found a slaver camp and both Uhura and Scotty, who had been assigned as servants to the commander of the base. They escaped with minimal effort (meaning no destruction of the base, but several dead Vehsins and hundreds of freed Federation citizens) and they joined Spock's crew.

Short months later, the slowly growing crew found Dr. McCoy working at a refugee camp on U'niva, and for a short time the crew of the  _Yeht-gav_  used the camp as a home base. McCoy never had any plans to leave the planet, (solid ground plus helping people who needed it equaled a serious plus in McCoy's book) but under Vehsin rule, stability was next to impossible. Word got out that resistance fighters were sheltering there, and the Vehsins destroyed the settlement. With nowhere else to go, McCoy signed on to serve under Spock as well.

('')

Spock was meditating in his captain's quarters when his door buzzed. "Enter," he said, resigning himself to failure in his meditations for the day. Sometimes he wondered why he still bothered.

Sybok stuck his head in Spock's quarters. "Transmission for you. It's Sulu."

"You could not simply have commed me?" Spock replied, looking up at his brother from the floor. He straightened his legs and sucked in a breath when his knees popped—he'd been sitting for too long.

Sybok shrugged. "Wanted to stretch my legs. I've been at the helm for thirteen hours."

"It is unnecessary for you to remain on duty for such lengths," Spock mumbled as he rose from his mat. He worried about his brother, who often pushed himself too hard for the good of the ship—but Sybok had always been a bit on the obsessive side.

Sybok shrugged again and smiled slightly as they walked together to the bridge. "I wanted to. We're near a couple Vehsin bases—someone needed to keep watch." Spock nodded in wordless thanks as the door swished open.

Nyota was talking softly into the comm when they entered the bridge. "Oh, he's here, Hikaru. I'll put you on the main screen," she said, and flicked a switch. Sulu had been on the forefront of the rebellion from day one and currently was the captain the  _Katana_ , another small fighter, similar in design to Spock’s ship. He was known for his rather daring one-ship attacks on much larger vessels, and had a high success rate. Spock privately thought it was a miracle that he hadn't been arrested or killed yet.

"Hey, Spock," Sulu said with a broad smile. "How are you guys?"

"We are adequate," Spock replied stoically, and Sybok clapped him on the back before turning to grin at Sulu.

"Don't listen to fussy pants here. We've been busy. Several successful raids, and we destroyed a troop ship last week. Vehsins didn't even see what hit 'em."

Spock glanced at his brother. "The textbook reason to employ a cloaking device," he deadpanned, and Sybok punched him in the shoulder, grinning. Spock quirked the side of his mouth up and then turned his attention back to Sulu. "How is your crew, Captain?"

Sulu shrugged. "We're alright. Pavel broke his arm last week planetside cause the idiot decided to get into a fistfight, but other than that, we're dealing just fine."

From the background, Chekhov's voice floated out: "I was prowoked. They were insulting you, Hikaru."

Sulu rolled his eyes, and behind Spock, the door swished open, revealing both Scotty and McCoy. They waved hello to Sulu and settled back, waiting to hear why he had called.

"Right," Sulu said. "Business. Pike contacted us—" he held up a hand to stop Uhura's squeal of excitement. News from Earth was hard to come by, and the whole crew worried about Admiral Pike, who was the unequivocal head of the Terran resistance.

"He's doing great," Sulu continued, "running the underground on Earth. Apparently they're making progress in training Starfleet-style. Good stuff all around. Anyway, he told me that they've received intelligence that the Vehsins have a think-tank type base on Thern IV. They're apparently forcing scientists to develop weapons for them.

"We think that the base is relatively vulnerable, and we're trying to get a group together to mount an offensive to rescue the scientists. Would you guys be willing?" He smiled hopefully at them, and Spock clasped his hands behind his back, considering.

Sybok slid into his place at the helm. "We could make it to Thern IV in two days at warp four."

Spock nodded. They had no other offensives planned, had adequate fuel, and were all in good health. The rescue of Federation scientists would be an asset to their cause, and truthfully, he was restless. This time of year… well. It was always difficult. "We will help," Spock responded.

"Great," Sulu grinned. "We'll rendezvous with you in two days. I'll send you the coordinates, Uhura. Oh, and we’ve also got backup from the  _Valour_  and the  _Blackjack_ , which will give us about ten soldiers—maybe more, I don’t know how full Whr’nk keeps his ship—planetside plus support from the air. It should be enough to entirely take out the base. There're supposedly five scientists being held there, but our intelligence says they’re all pretty important assets. Apparently one of them has been enslaved for the entire war.”

"Understood," Spock replied. "It is due time, then, for him to be freed. We will see you in two days." Sulu waved them off, still smiling, and the screen went dark. Uhura pressed a few buttons and sent the coordinates for the rendezvous to Sybok's console.

"Estimated arrival in forty-five hours," Sybok said after a moment, and Spock nodded, sitting down in his command chair. He glanced around the bridge.

"I will remain on duty. Everyone else, please rest. I will need you to be at your best for this offensive." The crew voiced their assent and with some shuffling, turned to leave. After a moment, Spock realized that Dr. McCoy had not moved and was in fact hovering by Spock’s chair.

"May I assist you, Leonard?" Spock asked, turning to him. McCoy tilted his head and smiled, though the motion didn’t quite reach his eyes. After a brief silence, he stepped forward and then plopped down on Sybok's vacated chair and watched his hands uncomfortably while speaking.

"Y'know, it's three years tomorrow."

Spock stiffened. He did not want to talk about this, especially when his most recent attempt to meditate failed so miserably. Still, it would be rude to remain silent. "Yes."

There was an awkward silence, and then McCoy gently asked, "How're you doin'?"

With a deep breath, Spock met his eyes. "I assure you that I am acceptable. The anniversary of Jim's death will be a day like any other."

McCoy sighed. "Yea. Just like any other." He glanced down and fiddled with his jacket for a moment before continuing. "…You know, I'm upset too. You don't have to act like it doesn't bother you. I mean hell, Jim was my best friend, and I know better than anyone what you two… how important he was to you. It's understandable if you're angry or somethin'."

Spock hesitated. McCoy had only been aboard the  _Yeht-gav_  for three months and Spock was aware that the doctor found it disconcerting when he allowed himself to show blatant emotionalism. And as the subject of 'Jim' was a touchy one… "I feel that perhaps inflicting violence upon the Vehsins at the think tank will provide an acceptable outlet for any residual emotions I may experience at this time of year," he finally admitted, and was relieved when McCoy barked out a laugh.

"Yea, that should be good… nothin' like a good old fashioned ass-whuppin' to let the anger out," the doctor said, laughing, and Spock nodded sagely.

"Indeed. Now you should get some rest, Leonard," he reiterated.

"Right. Well, let me know if you need to talk or anythin’." He stood to leave, and Spock made a small gesture that made him pause.

"Perhaps…” He hesitated, and McCoy looked at him expectantly. Spock wasn’t sure why he was saying this, but still. “Perhaps when Sybok relieves me, we would be able to speak of pleasant memories we have of Jim."

McCoy nodded and gave him a small smile. "That'd be great, Spock. I'll find you when you're off-duty." With a wave, he strode off the bridge.

('')

At 2100, Sybok sauntered back onto the bridge, humming something indistinguishable under his breath. "Everything quiet?" he asked, and Spock distractedly answered in the affirmative. Sybok scrutinized his brother for a moment before saying, "Are you all right, Spock? You seem a bit more reserved than usual, and you know that's saying something."

"I am acceptable," Spock responded with a hint of annoyance. He reminded himself that Sybok only meant well—in the time they'd spent together, his brother had fully embraced the role of the protective older sibling. Sybok continued inspecting him, apparently thinking, and Spock huffed slightly. "Sybok…"

Suddenly realization dawned in Sybok’s eyes. "It's the anniversary of Jim's death, isn't it… I'm sorry, I'd lost track…"

"It is of no concern." Spock thought he had done an admirable job of sounding calm, but his brother narrowed his eyes.

"I'm allowed to empathize with you, Spock. I've lost friends and lovers as well. Perhaps if you wanted to speak about it… or I could…"

"I do not wish for you to 'share my pain'," Spock snapped, then took a harsh breath to stabilize himself. "I apologize. My outburst was uncalled for. But I do not… to utilize your unique talents would be a… slight… on Jim's memory. It pains me to think of him, but my memories of our time together remain sharp. I do not wish to dull them."

Sybok nodded, and placed his hand on Spock's shoulder. "I understand. He was very important to you. I wish I could have met this man who so captured my brother's heart." He hesitated, then added softly, "I mourn with thee."

Spock let out a shaky breath. "Thank you, Sybok."

"Right, well, I came to relieve you. Get some sleep, little brother. At least meditate, yea?"

"I have plans to meet with Doctor McCoy to reminisce, but after, I will strive to do both," Spock told his brother. "Thank you again for your concern." He left Sybok, who was still watching him thoughtfully, and paused for the door to open before then heading for the medbay. He found McCoy there, immersed in reorganizing the shelves.

"Leonard," he said, announcing his presence, and McCoy started.

"Oh, hey Spock." He stowed away the last of the gauze, and turned, PADD in hand. "We're running low on antibiotics that'll work for you and Sybok. You think we'll be able to pick some more up somewhere soon?"

"I will attempt to arrange for restocking the next time we are near a base. Send me a list of everything we could use, and I will attempt to fill the order." Spock told him, and simultaneously started thinking about where they could get extra money to restock their medical supplies. He allowed himself to momentarily wistfully remember the days when he could simply requisition anything that was necessary for the ship and her crew.

"I'll do that," Leonard promised, and then bent to rummage in the cabinet that served as his 'desk.' "So you want to talk in my quarters or yours?" he asked, and emerged from the cabinet with a small flask of whiskey and a chocolate bar. Spock looked vaguely incredulous, but McCoy matched him eyebrow for eyebrow.

"It's tradition to drink when talking about your fallen comrades, Spock, and since you metabolize alcohol too damn fast…" The doctor gave Spock a confident smile.

"Consuming intoxicating substances may be inadvisable at this point," Spock countered, but his argument was only half-hearted.

"Oh, we won't get drunk. I know that's not a good idea. It's just… tradition." McCoy wiggled the chocolate in offering.

There was a brief silence. "Very well," Spock finally sighed. "I believe my quarters are the larger of the two. We should go there." McCoy grinned in victory.

They spent the next several hours telling increasingly ludicrous stories about James Kirk.

McCoy started the night off (accompanied by a long swig from the flask for him and a square of chocolate for Spock) with the story of how, their  _first_  week at Academy, Jim had solved all ten of Professor Tenalin's supposedly 'impossible equations.' Spock was impressed—the cadets that were able to solve the legendary problems numbered in the single digits and were usually in their final year at the Academy.

Spock countered this story with a detailed accounting of Jim's first diplomatic encounter, during which he managed to first wildly offend every single member of the Iixi delegation by accidentally insulting their religious beliefs (in Jim's defense, their belief structure was highly illogical). But Jim had thought fast, and using his considerable charm, by the end of the meeting he'd received four marriage proposals.

They laughed together over Jim's inability to keep his shirt in one piece on missions ("He destroyed shirts on 63.7 percent of all away missions," Spock said) and reminisced about his bravery and dedication to his crew. Spock groused about how Jim had repeatedly guilted/tricked/begged him into completing his paperwork for him, and McCoy complained about how difficult it had been to get him into the medbay for any sort of regular checkups.

And much to Spock's surprise, this discussion with McCoy did indeed make him feel better. The pain he had anticipated feeling was close to nonexistent, and he was significantly more relaxed now than he had been earlier in the night. Finally though, they realized it was getting late and both men needed to rest.

"Thank you for this, Leonard," Spock said when McCoy headed out. They were both slightly buzzed, and McCoy laughed before giving Spock a quick hug, which Spock awkwardly returned.

"Anytime, Spock. Anytime." McCoy said, and then he was gone.

Spock retreated to his bed and turned his face into his pillow. He should meditate, though he knew he wouldn’t, not tonight. Now that he was alone with his thoughts, he realized that discussion of Jim had affected him more than he was comfortable admitting. He prodded mentally at the familiar ache that Jim had left behind with his death, and rolled over to stare at the ceiling.

"I miss you," he whispered into the darkness, and thought that killing several Vehsins in the next few days would indeed be an excellent diversion of his anger. Then he slowed his body's functions and forced himself to sleep.

('')

They arrived at the rendezvous point with no difficulties and Spock beamed to the  _Valour_  to discuss the raid with the other captains. The meeting was held in the the  _Valour_ 's galley—it was the largest room amongst all four ships—around a small square dining table that looked as if it had seen better days.

The _Valour’s_ captain—a large bear-like alien named Whr'nk—sat at the head of the table, opposite Spock. Sulu and the  _Blackjack_ 's captain, a frankly terrifying human woman named Reynolds, sat across from each other.

Greetings and mild pleasantries took only short moments and then the captains got down to business. Whr’nk started things off by asking how many soldiers each ship could provide.

"I will beam down with Sybok and Uhura," Spock told them. "Scott and McCoy will remain aboard to provide weapons cover from the air and to man the transporter."

Sulu nodded. "I've only got a crew of four right now, and Chekhov's got a broken arm. He and Keenser will stay aboard, and I'll beam down with Riley."

Reynolds nodded. "My crew's not all the… fightin’-est types—we’re transporting civilians right now—but Awee, Sivit and I'll beam planetside. Everyone else would just get in the way. And we ain't tryin' to  _not_ kill Vehsins, right? Cause Sivit's awful fond of his guns." She smiled toothily.

Whr'nk laughed harshly and rumbled in his sketchy Standard, “No, Reynolds. We attempt decimate Vehsins on this _nek-hat_ base. If any left live, this raid failure. Provide five warriors, Whr’nk, two stay onboard to weapons."

Spock shook his head slightly at Whr'nk. "Above all else, a successful retrieval of the prisoners and the destruction of the base will signify victory. The death of any Vehsin guards will simply be an added bonus."

Whr'nk and Reynolds laughed heartily, but Sulu just looked slightly sad. Spock ignored this—Sulu was fully aware of Spock's troubles. He knew he had changed.

They made the remaining arrangements quickly and beamed back to their respective ships. By mutual agreement, they had one hour before they needed to be in position.

The hour passed quickly, and soon they were hovering (cloaked) over the Vehsin base, waiting for Whr'nk's signal. The bridge was tense and silent.

Uhura pressed her finger to her headset. "Go," she said clearly, breaking the silence of the bridge. Scotty and Sybok spun into action, working with perfect precision, swooping down on the base, firing as they went. Sybok's missiles hit the generator dead-on, and the base was plunged into darkness.

"McCoy, report to the transporter. Uhura, Sybok, ready?" Spock yelled (the other ships were still firing, taking out communication towers and lines, and the noise was deafening even through the ship's hull).

Spock, Sybok, and Uhura scrambled to the transport pad, and with a whirr and fission of energy, they were on the ground.

"You two check that building," Spock instructed, pointing to a structure that looked like a barracks. "It is likely the prisoners will be kept there. I will check the main building. The other teams should be down any moment, we are on communicator frequency nineteen. Go!"

They responded instantly and Spock allowed himself momentary gratification that his crew worked so well together. In the distance he saw an orange smear of light and Whr'nk's team materialized, perfectly intercepting a large group of Vehsin security.

Spock turned his back on the resulting bloodbath and wound his way toward the main building, inspecting the outside for an easy entrance. He should be able to gain egress with little difficulty—and he was alone for a reason. Whr'nk's people were providing the distraction and a single Vulcan was far less likely to be noticed.

However, the plan was not perfect—they had not been able to gather intelligence about the frequency of Vehsin patrols, and therefore, when he rounded a corner he ran smack into three jumpy guards. They were well-trained but terrified (Spock was pleased that the attack had caught them so off-guard) and he himself was far better prepared.

With several well-placed shots, he almost immediately killed two and incapacitated the last. After glancing around to make sure they had not called reinforcements to their area, he approached the injured guard, who was glaring at him from its position on the ground. It opened its mouth to speak, but Spock calmly reached out and pistol-whipped it, knocking it entirely unconscious. He then took a breath, strengthening his mental shields.

 _This_ was one of the reasons he in particular had been called to help with this raid. His telepathic abilities were often used by the resistance fighters on missions that by necessity needed to happen quickly. If he could meld with a prisoner during a fight, the resistance could easily attain all the same information within a few seconds that they otherwise only could have obtained after months of reconnaissance.

In short, he needed to meld with the Vehsin to find the location of the prisoners, as well as any sensitive documents that they could steal before the base was destroyed. However, due to then Vehsin telepathic ability, the few melds that Spock had initiated during this struggle had resulted in extreme pain and sickness on his part. While it had never again been as terrible as that first psychic attack, they were far from pleasant.

So now he sucked in a breath, preparing himself, and lowered his fingers. But just as Spock was about to delve into the unpleasant buzzing of the Vehsin's mind, his communicator chirped. He withdrew his hand with the slightest feeling of relief to answer.

"Uhura to Spock. We've met up with Sulu's team, and we've found two of the five scientists. He's taking them back to his ship. Reynolds found two more, and those ones said that last man is being held in the main building. Apparently he tried to lead them in a revolt, and he's due for execution. They're calling him Saul."

"Acknowledged," Spock responded. "I have captured a Vehsin and will ascertain his whereabouts now. Beam back to the ship and have McCoy ready." He didn't listen to Uhura's response—he knew she would obey him, and he needed them aboard in order to get out of here as fast as possible. Wasting no more time, he placed his fingers on the Vehsin's face and cringed when its mind flooded into his.

 _/small cell, prisoner curled in corner, beaten raw/_  the alien's mind ripped through his, leaving raw sores in its wake. Even unconscious, the Vehsin was actively fighting him, hiding the information he wanted. Spock ground his teeth in frustration and shoved himself more violently into the Vehsin's mind. It mentally recoiled, and the location of the last prisoner's cell swam into view, followed by schematics for a large-scale orbital weapon.

Spock withdrew quickly, suppressing his urge to vomit. He had the information he needed, and flicked open his comm to contact Reynolds. After a brief exchange, during which she confirmed that she would be able to get to the plans, Spock refocused on the rescue of the final prisoner.

At his feet, the Vehsin was beginning to stir. Spock waged a momentary war within himself, eventually losing the battle to his anger. He swiftly drew his knife (a present, long ago, from Jim) and slit the alien's throat. Instantly, he felt calmer (which, as always, should have worried him, and also as always, didn't) and coolly wiped the alien's black blood off the blade and his hand and onto the Vehsin's jacket.

He then allowed himself 3.2 seconds to clear his mind and reinforce his shields before sprinting toward the main building. He broke down an outer door that the mind-meld had identified as being a weak point, but then was forced to retreat slightly as a small security detachment spilled out. Practically functioning on autopilot, he picked them off one by one and felt no remorse that he had his phaser set to the highest setting.

Minutes later, he was sliding down a grey hallway, listening carefully for any sound of pursuit above the emergency klaxons that were still sounding. He turned a corner and surprised a guard, whom he dispatched with a precise shot to the throat. It fell with gurgle, and Spock suppressed the urge to sneer as he relived it of its key.

He swiped the key through the reader and let himself into the holding cell area. "Saul?" he called, remembering the name Uhura gave him. "I am here to rescue you. Please call out."

"Here," a weak voice floated toward him from the end of the row of cells, and Spock shivered involuntarily. He pushed an illogical thought ( _that the prisoner had a familiar voice_ ) to the back of his mind and quickly found the cell the he was being held in.

He glanced in as he swiped the key through the lock. The prisoner was curled on the ground against a side wall, in a position that was at least moderately defensible. He appeared to have a broken arm as well as several skin lacerations—some of which seemed to be quite deep. His hair and beard were long, matted, and dirty. If it were clean, it would perhaps have been blonde.

The door swung open and Spock stepped forward. "Are you able to stand? We must hurry. This building is shielded, but if we can get outside, my ship will beam us to safety."

"Yea," the man said, and looked up.

Spock's world came to a screeching halt and he staggered backwards, suddenly certain that he must have received a blow to the head and was hallucinating.

Familiar blue eyes (dulled slightly by pain) stared at him, confused at his obviously intense reaction. Spock forced himself to breathe, and a strangled word slipped past his lips.

"Jim."


	3. Reunited

But there was no recognition in those eyes, just worried confusion.

Standing in the entrance to the cell, Spock's mind whirled. He spent exactly 4.1 seconds considering the following possibilities:

Hypothesis: James Kirk was dead, and this man in front of him was a look-alike. Conclusion: False. The facial structure (that he could just make out under the beard) of the prisoner was a one hundred percent match for Jim.

Hypothesis: James Kirk was dead, and this man in front of him was a hologram. Conclusion: False. There were no holographic emitters within the cell.

Hypothesis: James Kirk was dead, and this man in front of him was a clone. Conclusion: False. Known Vehsin technology would not have been able to produce a clone that would have had the time to grow to maturity.

So…

Hypothesis: James Kirk was  _alive_  on a Vehsin prison base going by the name of Saul, had no memory of his past, or specifically, of Spock. Conclusion: Plausible. Spock would need to read him to be sure.

So he held out his hand, and Jim lurched forward to grasp it.

Feeling vaguely like an intruder, Spock used their touch to rifle quickly through his head—only long enough to ascertain that this  _was_ , in fact, Jim. There was something obviously off about Jim's mind, but Spock did not have the time to look any deeper. Besides, he had the information he needed.

It. was. Jim.

The muffled sound of an explosion brought Spock back to his senses. The building shook and Spock's comm chirped. "We've got the plans, Spock," came Reynolds' voice. "We're gone, get out now!"

Spock looked down at his hand (still clasped firmly in Jim's) and then said, his voice remarkably steady, "We must leave immediately. You will be healed aboard my ship. Are you able to run?"

Jim nodded. "I can handle a phaser, too, if you have one for me."

Spock responded by reaching into his pack and pulling out an extra phaser. He handed it to Jim, who expertly adjusted the setting (to kill, Spock noticed) and swung into the corridor (favoring his left arm) to cover Spock's back.

"This way," Spock ordered, and Jim moved toward the entrance to the cell hall, limping slightly. Spock briefly considered simply picking him up and carrying him ( _to speed their progress, not to simply touch him_ , he told himself) but one look at Jim's face told him this gesture would be unwelcome.

They paused at the entrance to the cells and Spock swiped the key, moving on autopilot. He examined Jim again for a split second while waiting for the lock to disengage—Jim looked worried, but not scared. The Vulcan felt the strongest surge of recognition yet.  _This_  was his captain. This  _was_  Jim.

"This way," Spock called again, pulling out his communicator as he jogged though the hallways toward the exit. "We need to be outside for my ship to lock onto my signal," he explained, and Jim nodded, close behind him. The second they burst through the outer door, Spock hailed McCoy. "Doctor, two to beam up."

He reached out and twisted his fingers into Jim's ragged prison uniform. Jim was shaking slightly—likely from adrenaline and exhaustion, but Spock felt a tightening of worry in his abdomen. His communicator chirped McCoy's affirmative but in the same instant, perhaps twenty Vehsin guards came into view around the side of the building.

Both men aimed without missing a beat, taking out several of the soldiers in front and continuing to pick them off even as they felt their atoms separating within the transporter. The next second, the world went white, then solidified into the  _Yeht-gav_ 's transport pad.

Scotty had already brought the ship to orbit, and the second they were aboard, Spock felt the rumble of the engines ramp up a notch as they warped away.

Spock breathed, and the world slowed down. He distantly heard McCoy demanding they sit down. He was rummaging in his med bag (probably for a tricorder) and hadn't looked up—hadn't seen who the prisoner  _was_. So instead of answering him, Spock dropped his phaser into its holster and turned sluggishly to Jim.

Blue eyes (filled with concern and complete bafflement) met his. Spock stepped forward, ghosted his hands up Jim's arms, across his chest, up to his face. His fingers hovered over the meld points, but he did not touch.

Instead, he whispered, "You are alive. Jim, how are you alive?" Spock pulled back from his face and instead smoothed his fingers down Jim's torn and bloodied uniform, pressing hard enough to feel the beat of the human heart through the layers of fabric. He let out a shaky breath. "Please say something," he murmured.

Jim shook his head. "I'm… I don't know you. I'm not… " he started to say, but at that moment, the adrenaline rush that was undoubtedly keeping him on his feet crashed. His shaking became more pronounced, and he sagged. His phaser fell from his suddenly nerveless fingers to the transport pad with a loud clatter. The only thing that kept him from hitting the floor were Spock's strong arms catching him.

('')

Spock was sitting in the tiny medical bay's only chair, watching Jim's unconscious body. Jim was breathing shallowly, highly sedated.

McCoy had fixed him up while practically hyperventilating—Spock had actually worried that the doctor was having a heart attack when he finally realized who their new passenger was. But Leonard was a highly professional doctor (as he so frequently reminded the crew) and so he treated Jim with steady hands even while his eyes were tearing up.

Jim's final injury count included a fractured arm, dislocated shoulder, three fractured ribs, a sprained ankle, several second and first degree burns, as well as more scrapes and lacerations than even Spock could count. This was not including the evidence of long—and sometimes badly—healed previous wounds.

After McCoy had administered several final hypos (antibiotics, nutrients, another sedative) he headed to the bridge to fill the rest of the crew in on just who the prisoner had been, to stop them from mobbing the medbay, and to give Spock some time alone with Jim.

So there they were—Spock hovering, Jim unconscious. Spock had engaged in this exact scenario twenty-three times while serving aboard the  _Enterprise_ , and was acutely aware of the fact that he had never imagined he would be doing it again.

Jim was a mess, Spock observed unhappily. His back was a gnarled map of scar tissue—obviously he had been whipped and beaten more times than Spock wished to think of. McCoy had clucked sadly over the scars, promising both Spock and a semi-conscious Jim that he'd be able to fade their severity.

Jim also had several long scars down his chest in a pattern Spock was familiar with as a method of Vehsin torture, (Spock had identical scars on his own chest) and his arms and legs were practically a network of tiny pale lines. His hands were rough and callused—he'd obviously spent at least some time in a labor camp.

The most disturbing of the unfamiliar scars was the starburst on his right temple, standing out darkly against his pale face—the mark from where that first Vehsin commander had shot him in the head.

Unable to restrain himself any longer, Spock reached out and laced their fingers. "I am endlessly sorry, Jim," he said softly. "We lost your life signal. We thought you were dead.  _I_  thought you were dead." He fell silent, grasping tightly at their joined hands. They would speak when Jim awoke—it was illogical to talk while his words would remain unheard.

An hour later, through their touch, Spock became aware of Jim's consciousness stirring slightly. He was waking up. Spock removed his hand and sat back, unwilling to force his presence on a man who did not remember him.

Long minutes later, Jim's eyes finally opened, and he fluttered his hand to his face. "Where…"

"You are safe," Spock said softly, "aboard the  _Yeht-gav_. I am Spock. I captain the ship."

Jim pushed himself shakily to his elbows and glanced around the medbay before answering. "I'm Saul, but you were calling me something else. Do you know who I am? Tell me you know who I am." His face was a mixture of hope and apprehension.

Spock raised an eyebrow. "You are unaware of your true identity?" He ignored the sudden crushing disappointment in his chest.

Jim shook his head. "I don't have any memory about anything that happened to me before about three years ago." He gestured to the scar on his temple. "I've been told that being shot in the head'll do that."

Spock closed his eyes and tried to keep his voice neutral. Jim needed the barest of the facts—just something that would provide him direction. There would be time for details later. "Your name is James Tiberius Kirk, and you are a citizen of the Federation. You are a human from the United States of America and the state of Iowa. You are twenty-nine years old. You were the captain of the Federation starship  _Enterprise_. I was… I was your first officer."

Jim stared at him for a moment before smiling slightly. "I'd kinda figured about the being a human thing. And I was a captain? Awesome." He swung his legs over the edge of the bed, then swayed when the blood rushed from his head. Spock stood quickly to steady him.

"Please do not move too quickly, Jim. You were severely injured and are malnourished." Spock hesitated, then asked, "Would you rather I call you Saul?"

"No," Jim said firmly. "My name's Jim." He grinned widely as the thought finally fully struck him. "My  _name's_  Jim! I've had no idea for the longest time… this is… wonderful, Spock. Fuckin' wonderful."

Spock allowed himself the smallest of smiles. "Beyond wonderful," he agreed quietly. After a moment of silence, Jim turned to him.

"Can I get out of here? Medbays make me nervous…"

"Soon," Spock promised. "Our doctor needs to finish taking readings. He will doubtlessly desire to give you a full medical exam now that you are lucid."

As if on cue, the doors to the medbay swished open and Leonard strode in, his scowl back in full force. "Out," he ordered, making shooing motions with his hands at Spock. "I gave you time. I need to talk to him." Jim drew himself up slightly and shot a panicked glance at Spock.

"Leonard, there are extenuating circumstances," Spock said quickly. He was aware that Jim did not wish for him to leave, but he didn't have any idea how to tactfully deal with the topic of the memory loss. Leonard turned to glare at Spock for a moment.

"I'm pretty sure Jim can fill me in without you lurking," he lectured.

"No, I don't—" Jim started, and McCoy turned to him, starting to realize that more was wrong with him than physical injury.

Spock took a breath. "Jim, this is Doctor Leonard McCoy. He was your chief medical officer aboard the  _Enterprise_ , as well as one of your closest friends. Leonard, Jim is suffering from total amnesia prior to the past three years."

McCoy stared at Spock for a moment before sinking to the medbay's tiny chair. "Well shit," he mumbled. "Sorry I burst in here like that…"

"No, it's ok…" Jim said, and the three men fell into an uneasy silence. Finally, Leonard stood up again.

"Right, well, I still need to do a more thorough medical exam. I promise it won't take too long," he told Jim, who nodded warily.

"I will give you privacy," Spock stated, wincing at the slightly panicked look that again crossed Jim's face when he stood to go. "I need to inform the rest of the crew of your well-being. I will return shortly."

"Yea, ok…" Jim said, and reluctantly turned his attention to Leonard's ministrations with the tricorder. With that, Spock left the medbay and headed to the bridge, where he was greeted by the remainder of his extremely nervous crew.

"Is it really him?" Uhura asked.

"Yes," Spock stated. Uhura sat heavily at her console, and Scotty whistled through his teeth. Spock continued: "However, he has suffered some sort of brain damage from when he was shot. He has no memories prior to that incident."

"So he doesn't remember the  _Enterprise_? Or any of us or anything?" clarified Scotty. Spock shook his head.

"As I said, he retains no memories of his life. He did not even know his true identity, hence why he was going by the name 'Saul'." He blinked, fighting swelling emotions, and sucked in a breath when a steadying had was placed on his shoulder.

"It's not your fault, brother," Sybok said softly. "Had you known he was alive you would have attempted rescue."

"Yea," Scotty agreed. "We lost his life signs. There wasn't any reason to believe he was anything but…"

The bridge lapsed into silence as they contemplated the flawed miracle that had been dropped into their lap. Suddenly, Uhura sat up, an idea burning in her eyes.

"You should meld with him," she said. "Maybe you can fix whatever happened. Or I don't know… help him access his memories." Scotty and Sybok nodded in agreement.

"Go to him," Sybok ordered. "Help him. He needs his mind."

Spock nodded slowly, thinking. Finally, he said, "Once he is more comfortable with his situation, I will suggest he meet with you. For now, please keep this news to yourself—no communications unless utterly necessary. We do not know why the Vehsins felt the need to keep him alive. They will likely be looking for him." He listened to the crew's assent, then turned to head back to the medbay, making a quick detour to ready Jim's quarters.

He was putting Jim in the room next to his, vacant since Sybok moved in with Uhura. He went first to his own room to gather extra bedding and a few changes of clothes—the pants would be too long, but it would be acceptable until Jim could locate clothing of his own. Spock walked through the adjoining bathroom to the empty quarters and quickly made the bed, laying the clothing at the head. He surveyed the room—it would do for now. It was time to return to the medbay.

Spock walked back in just as Jim was hopping down off the biobed. Leonard was glaring at the tricorder, and Jim looked confused again.

"Is something amiss?" Spock asked, and Jim shrugged. Spock noticed that Jim's cheeks flushed slightly when he met his eyes. He suppressed the urge to inquire why his presence caused Jim to blush.

"Leonard says there's nothing wrong with my brain," Jim said, pulling the medical gown they'd dressed him in tighter around his chest. "There's no reason for me to have memory loss." There was a flash of annoyance across his face. "But obviously there's  _something_  wrong."

Leonard glanced up from the tricorder. "He's got scarring on his brain, but that's expected, and it's not in any place that should cause memory loss. Plus, there're actual surgical markings as well as the burn from the plasma shot—and whoever operated on him was damn good at what they were doing. It took a lot of effort to repair the damage from the gun."

He turned and directly addressed Jim. "You're in decent health—malnourished and underweight, but nothing that can't be easily fixed. Take a shower, maybe shave—your beard looks ridiculous, by the way—and get some sleep. Let me know if you feel even slightly sick." Leonard stuck his finger in Jim's face. "No hiding sickness—your antibodies will be all screwed up from going into space after spending time on that damn planet. You sneeze, I wanna hear about it."

Jim nodded docilely, and Spock turned to McCoy. "May I show him to his quarters?"

"Yea," Leonard waved his hand dismissively. "You're good to go."

Spock thanked him, and Leonard nodded, crossing his arms and leaning against the biobed. Jim palmed the door to the medbay open and stepped out somewhat apprehensively. "Your quarters will be this way," Spock instructed, and Jim turned to his right, limping slightly. When he noticed Spock's concerned face, he shrugged.

"I broke my leg a year or so ago. Didn't heal right, I've had a limp ever since."

"Perhaps Doctor McCoy…"

Jim cut him off. "It's really not a big deal. I don't even notice anymore, and besides, Leonard said fixing it would mean re-breaking my leg, and there's just no reason to do that. I'm fine, really."

"As you say…" Spock replied reluctantly, and Jim grinned at him.

"Protective much, Mister Spock?"

"…That is an acceptable assessment." Spock felt that he had successfully schooled his face into blankness, despite his initial surprise at hearing the familiar 'Mr. Spock' uttered from Jim's mouth. Feeling surprisingly unprepared, Spock reached out and opened the door to Jim's new quarters.

"I will leave you here," he said. "I have provided you with several changes of clothing. There is a sonic shower in the bathroom, as well as any personal grooming devices you require. We share this bathroom—my quarters are next door. Please… please take all the time you need."

Jim nodded. "I'll come get you when I'm done. We should probably talk." He flashed Spock his trademark grin. "Actually, there's no probably—I'm dying to talk to you, but I can't even tell you how amazing a shower sounds right now. See you in a bit." He walked inside and the door slid shut behind him. Spock spent a moment staring at the door, then turned and went into his own quarters.

('')

42.6 minutes later, Spock's door buzzed. He was sitting on his mat in the center of the room—he had been attempting to meditate (he was wildly unsuccessful)—and quickly rose to answer the chime.

When the door slid open, Spock blinked and felt his heart stutter. Jim was nervously rocking back and forth on the balls of his feet, waiting to be let in. The beard was gone, his long hair clean and tied back with a rubber band. He was scrubbed pink, dressed in jeans (Spock was correct in thinking they were too long—they were turned up at the cuff) and a grey knit sweater that was ridiculously endearing. He was still wearing the medbay slippers Leonard had given him.

Jim noticed Spock's gaze directed at his feet, and smiled. "You didn't give me any shoes."

"I apologize," Spock said, finally stepping back and gesturing for Jim to come in. "You may use one of my pairs. I believe they will fit." He opened the closet and pulled out a pair of boots.

Jim accepted them and sat down at Spock's desk to pull them on. "So. Is everyone gonna react to me being alive like you and Leonard? Like I'm some prodigal son?"

"Perhaps," Spock said slowly, watching as Jim reclined in the chair like he was made to be there. He took a moment (just the briefest of seconds) to appreciate the view laid out before him, and then reminded himself that while this  _was_  Jim, it was not  _his_  Jim. This Jim had no memories of him, or of what they had been to one another.

"Your supposed death was the initial catalyst for the aggression between ourselves and the Vehsin. You were the captain of the Federation's flagship, and you are a decorated war hero several times over. Yours is a household name."

Jim looked uncomfortable. "I'm not all of that anymore," he said softly.

Spock was quick to reassure him. "No one will expect you to be. Many things have changed in the last three years."

"Yea," Jim agreed, and looked slightly relieved. "So tell me about… uh, myself."

Spock considered for a moment, then turned to the chest at the end of his bed, opened it, and pulled out a small holoport. He held it in his hands for a moment, collecting himself, and then turned and handed it to Jim.

"There are several holos here that show your family and friends. It is yours. I kept it for… for sentiment. I can explain to you who is represented in each of these pictures."

Jim stared at him, some indefinable look in his eyes, and then reached out and took the port. His fingers brushed accidentally against Spock's, who pulled his hand back as if their fleeting touch burned. Jim's eyes narrowed, and he frowned. "You weren't just my first officer, were you?" he asked hesitantly.

Spock sat heavily on the bed and considered how to answer that, finally settling with the shortest answer possible. "No."

"Leonard may have implied," Jim said, carefully not meeting Spock's gaze.

Spock nodded, feeling a blush rush to his cheeks and realizing he was entirely incapable of stopping it. "We were…" he found he couldn't finish the sentence. Jim had no memories of their relationship, and Spock had no idea if that type of togetherness would be possible in this life. So instead he settled with simply saying, "I cannot force my own feelings on you, regardless of what we once were."

Jim chewed on his lip, (the gesture so familiar it made Spock's heart ache) picked up the port again, and flicked it on. The first projection was a picture of a stern woman in a Starfleet uniform.

"Your mother, Winona Kirk," Spock explained. "She was killed in one of the initial conflicts with the Vehsin, while engaged in evacuating schools on Earth." Jim stared blankly at her picture for a moment, then flicked to the next holo.

"Sam, your brother," Spock said, "with his wife and children. The last contact I had with them, he informed me he was headed to the Delta Quadrant with a group of colonists. The Vehsin do not have power there."

"We look alike," Jim said, and Spock nodded.

The next several pictures were of various Enterprise crew members, some including Jim, some without. "Friends and crew," Spock explained, as Jim studied one of Spock's favorites—a holo of Uhura yelling at him with Jim grinning through her onslaught. "That is Nyota Uhura. She is aboard this vessel. She is my communications officer."

There was one of Scotty covered in oil and beaming—"This was taken shortly after Commander Scott—who is also aboard, serving as the engineer—had his work regarding transwarp beaming published. The Admiralty thought it inappropriate that he still insisted on performing routine maintenance himself, and so he made a point to make himself as filthy as possible whenever we had an admiral aboard," Spock said, and Jim laughed.

The next was of Jim and McCoy laughing at the camera while on a shore leave, their hands extended for warmth over a roaring green fire. It looked as if they had been passing a flask back and forth.

Several others showed Jim snapshots of his farm in Iowa, friends at the Academy, even a few pictures of his father. "I know about the  _Kelvin_ ," Jim said. "But I had no idea that George Kirk was my dad."

The last holo was a candid of Jim and Spock standing close together, their fingers intertwined. Spock remained silent—he did not desire to explain this picture. He remembered the moment clearly—it had been the first time Jim had told him he loved him, and they had been utterly unaware of their surroundings until the shutter of Leonard's camera had whirred.

Jim stared at this one for a long time. "We loved each other," he finally said. He looked up at Spock, his blue eyes full of pain. "God, I'm so sorry. I wish…"

"It is illogical for you to apologize for something that you have no control over," Spock forced out.

Jim shook his head and slid over to sit next to Spock on the bed. "This has gotta be pretty terrible for you." He pulled Spock into his arms, hugging him tightly, and Spock collapsed into the touch.

Valiantly, Spock thought, he was able to control himself enough that he did not begin to cry. As it was, he took a shaky breath and pulled Jim closer. "It was worse when I thought you dead," he mumbled. Jim rested his chin on Spock's head and wrapped his arms tighter.

It took Spock precisely three minutes and twelve seconds to regain his composure. At the end of this time, he pulled back from Jim's arms and stood. "I apologize for my lack of control, Captain," he muttered, and Jim smirked.

"You are an odd Vulcan, showing emotion one second, denying it the next. And I'm not the captain, you are. I'm just a passenger, right?" He leaned back against the bulkhead and tried to make himself comfortable.

"Indeed. Again, my apologies. It is… habit." Spock locked his arms behind his back in his customary parade rest, and watched as Jim's mouth quirked.

"It's weird. I keep getting these flashes of memory." He gestured to Spock's stance. "You, standing like that, just looks really familiar. And in the medbay, I called Leonard 'Bones' and have no idea where that one came from. Does that mean I could get my memories back? I mean, I'm around friends now, and not being… ya'know. Tortured. And that's good for the brain, right?"

"Perhaps. I do not know the probability of your memories returning. You will likely be required to undertake further scans," Spock admitted. "And you call Doctor McCoy 'Bones' because… actually, I do not know the circumstances of his acquiring that name. I do know, however, that it is from your Academy days."

"Starfleet Academy."

"Correct."

"Jesus," Jim said, and hung his head. "It's just a lot to take in."

Spock tilted his head. "I have been thinking. Since Leonard believes that your injuries were not the reason behind your memory loss, it is likely that they are entirely mental in nature. I may be able to help you regain them, if this is the case. If you allowed me to perform a mind meld, it is possible that I could access the memories that have been damaged."

With a sudden movement, Jim dragged Spock back down to the bed and pulled his hand inexpertly to his face. "Do it. You have my full permission to dig as deep as you need to. I'd do just about anything to get my memories back."

Spock blinked and adjusted his hand slightly. "Very well. My mind to your mind, my thoughts to your thoughts…"

Spock realized that something was extremely wrong the second he touched Jim's mind. It was like there was a darkness obstructing what should have been the pathway into Jim's thoughts. Spock tentatively reached out and prodded at it, and from a distance, he realized a jolt of pain had shot through his body. It was not unlike the feeling he experienced when melding with a Vehsin. Slightly apprehensive, he reached out and tried again.

This time, he was aware of Jim's consciousness, somewhat afraid and confused, locked behind the darkness. Spock moved to the side, trying to find an entrance or a way past, but could find nothing. / _You must fight it, Jim_ / he projected, and there was a tenuous assent.

Spock was suddenly aware of a disruption on the other side of the barrier—Jim was pushing against it. But it pushed against Spock in turn, and with a jolt, he was thrown out of the meld.

He realized he was lying flat on his back on his bunk, and Jim was sitting straight up, shaking slightly. Spock rose, grasped his shoulders and said gently, "Jim. Jim, come back to me."

Slowly, Jim's eyes focused on him and then he shook his head, as if to clear it. "What… what was that, Spock? It was like it was trying to keep me out." Jim blinked, then groaned and clutched both his stomach and his head.

Spock fought the urge to pull him closer, and instead simply said, "Tell me."

"I feel nauseous and there's this shooting pain in my head," Jim explained, rubbing on his unscarred temple. "It was weird—I feel like the memories are there, but just out of my reach. But I haven't even felt that before now—maybe the mind meld opened something up."

"I believe," Spock said slowly, thinking, "that the Vehsins have telepathically altered your mind to deny you access to your memories. Perhaps they saw it as a threat if you had full access to your mind. You are aware of basic facts, correct?"

"What, like math and star systems and history? Yea, I remember that stuff, but I don't know  _how_  I know it. Anything impersonal, I've got it all. It's just my own personal everything that I don't know." Jim looked upset again.

Spock frowned. He had never encountered this type of mind-blocking before. "Sybok is more gifted than I am in healing mind sicknesses. He may be able to help you where I cannot," he finally admitted. "Would you be willing—" he was cut off by an alarm sounding, and he stood and bolted from the room without another word.


	4. The Vehsin

The red alert klaxons were still wailing when Spock made it to the bridge a few seconds later, and he silenced them with a press of a button on his chair. "Sybok, report," he ordered. He vaguely registered that Jim had followed him and was hovering uncertainly near the bridge door.

"We're being stalked by a Vehsin cruiser," Sybok said, his fingers dancing across the console. "They're scanning us." He spared a glance at Jim, but didn't comment on his presence. "We're evenly matched, weapons-wise, but we won't be able to warp away with them so far up our asses."

"Hailing us, sir," Uhura said, and Spock noticed that her eyes were fixed unblinkingly on Jim. Spock did not need her to be distracted right now, though he understood—he was loathe to let Jim out of his sight himself.

"Jim, off the bridge," Spock ordered, and Jim looked surprised. Spock turned to him, exasperated. "We are near a Vehsin base that has just been attacked by unknown fighters who escaped with prisoners, of which you are one. They are looking for you. Off the bridge."

Jim nodded once and left without a word. Spock watched him go, then sat in his chair, adopting a pose that was both calm and subservient. "Sybok, move to the far console so they cannot see you. Uhura, put them through."

Sybok stood and switched to the console that was in a blind spot of the bridge's view screen—Spock did not want the Vehsin to know there was more than one telepathic being aboard the ship. If it thought he was the only one, it would concentrate on him, meaning Sybok could take charge if for some reason Spock was incapacitated.

Uhura pressed a few buttons, nodded to Spock, and the view screen flickered to life, revealing a rather fat and bulbous-looking Vehsin. Its mandibles were clicking lazily. Spock steeled himself for the inevitable unpleasantness—hopefully they'd be able to get away with simply talking to the Vehsin commander.

"Greetings, Benevolent Overlord. How may we assist?" he asked, affecting the perfect picture of subservience.

The Vehsin sneered when he saw who he was addressing. "Hello, Vulcan. You will account for yourself for the past forty-eight hours."

"Of course," Spock responded, and gestured at Uhura to send the other ship their (skillfully falsified) flight plan, crew list, and manifest. "May I ask the reason for your inquiry?" He glanced at the copy of the flight plan she had just copied to him. "We are simply en route for Bajor."

"There has been an attack," the Vehsin mumbled, distracted by looking over their flight plan. "You are Captain Senik?"

"Indeed." Spock tried to radiate calmness and disinterest. If he acted like a proper 'reprogrammed' Vulcan, they had a small chance of getting out of this situation entirely intact. Everything hinged on whether the Vehsin was bored enough to harass them for no reason.

The Vehsin's black eyes glittered with malice, and Spock mentally swore. It was bored, then. "I see your reprogramming was conducted at Gulk Nor. I was stationed there for some time. Such a shame that so many of your people had to die there."

Spock was silent.

"Especially when so many of the dead were your women and children," the Vehsin continued. It clicked in an approximation of sympathy. "Such a proud race. Truly a shame."

Spock felt his jaw tightening, and forced himself to relax. From the corner of his eye, he saw Sybok trembling with rage.

You are angry," the Vehsin taunted.

"On the contrary, Overlord. Vulcans do not experience anger." Spock forced out, aware that his slightly shaking voice betrayed him.

The Vehsin laughed and smiled toothily at the crew. "Fine, fine, of course not. Well, your flight plan checks out. However, we do have one issue. I require a…" it appeared to think for a moment. "A third of your cargo," it finished, obviously pulling a random number out of the air. "After you have sent it, I will allow you to continue to Bajor."

"A third—!" Uhura interjected, and Spock shot her a look. She immediately ducked her head in apology, avoiding meeting the eyes of the Vehsin who was now glaring at her.

Spock cleared his throat to get the Vehsin's attention. "Of course, Overlord. We will transport it at once," he said, trying his best to appear humble.

"No," the Vehsin snapped. "I would like to inspect it myself, if, of course, you do not mind." Its voice changed quickly from furious to purring dangerously. "I will beam aboard."

Spock nodded past the sinking feeling in his stomach. A Vehsin would never want to physically interact with a random trader they encountered—it obviously suspected something. "I will greet you with open arms," he promised, and then glanced at Uhura. She shut off the view screen feed with a touch more force than was strictly necessary.

"Fuck," she breathed, and Sybok nodded.

"You two, stay here," Spock ordered. "Redirect the transporter so the Vehsin beams into the cargo bay—I do not want it near the bridge if it can be helped. Sybok… if it…" he sighed. "Please keep the crew safe. I leave you in charge." Sybok nodded, looking unhappy, and Spock stood and practically ran from the bridge.

He checked Jim's quarters first, found them empty, and then (truly running now) headed to the medbay. He burst in, interrupting McCoy when he asked what was happening, and dragged Jim to a cleverly hidden smuggling compartment he'd built into the hull.

"In," he instructed. "The Vehsin commander is boarding us. You cannot be found. This will shield your life signs from its scans. Hopefully it will be enough."

"Fuck, Spock. The hell does it want, comin' aboard?" McCoy asked, and watched as Jim crammed himself into the small space.

"It claims to desire our cargo." Spock answered tersely, before turning his attention to a rather aggravated-looking Jim. "I apologize for the limited space," he muttered when Jim glared up at him, "but I cannot accept the risk of it finding you."

"I don't have to be stuck in here, I could just stay out of the way, be there with a phaser for backup," Jim argued, even while he tried to make room for his legs.

"It is too dangerous," Spock countered, but then reconsidered. He pulled his phaser from its holster (and felt suddenly naked—he couldn't remember the last time he didn't have a gun within easy reach) and handed it to Jim. "If you hear a confrontation,  _and_  you deem it safe, come to provide backup. But I would prefer for you not to be found."

Jim nodded, already adjusting the phaser settings, and Spock swung the door shut, plunging Jim into deep darkness.

His communicator pinged, and Uhura told him the Vehsin was beaming aboard. He hurried to greet the commander, arriving at the bay entrance mere seconds before the Vehsin fully materialized, and straightened his back with a snap, once again acting the perfect reprogrammed Vulcan. He realized McCoy had followed him to the bay, and Scotty had arrived from the engine room moments after—McCoy must have called him.

They stood together toward the back of the bay—Spock in front, flanked by the other men. Scotty fingered the plasma rifle he habitually kept strapped to his leg, and Leonard flicked the dial of his phaser to 'kill,' though he left it in the holster.

The Vehsin blinked its small black eyes and glanced around, getting its bearings. Spock looked on blandly. "Greetings, Overlord," he said calmly, and the Vehsin focused on him, then scuttled forward, its rolls of fat shifting unpleasantly.

"Captain Senik," it buzzed, and without warning, extended a small sliver rod and pressed it against Spock's side. Though he had been expecting some sort of show of force, he was unable to stop his grunt as pain rocketed through his body.

_[There were two types of Vehsins known to the resistance. The first, who seemed to maintain the command positions, were not the most physically capable specimens—they had other weapons at their disposal to ensure obedience from their conquered. As adolescents and young adults, this type was rather spindly, with thin limbs and weak bones. They could be bested relatively easily in hand-to-hand combat, proved their opponent was trained in defense (there were, of course, exceptions, and a rebel that underestimated the commanders was often a dead rebel). As they aged however, they had the unfortunate tendency to become overweight, and a rebel could easily estimate a Vehsin’s age by the deposits of fat on its body._

_The second type, which was far more prevalent, was a specimen that seemingly functioned as the shock troops of the Vehsin empire. These creatures were much larger than their commanding counterparts, and proved formidable opponents. Their physical strength was about the same as humans, perhaps slightly higher. They were vicious and cruel, and rarely took prisoners. They served as guards, soldiers, any office where violence may be part of the job. They had thick hides, and phasers on stun were often ineffective against them. Plasma rifles were a more sure bet, though anything other than a direct hit would only cause them to become more frantic in their fight._

_As far as the rebels could tell, both kinds of Vehsin had similar telepathic abilities. They were able to easily and forcibly affect fellow telepathic species from great distances, inflicting pain, confusion, and even forcing certain bodily reactions. And if they were in direct physical proximity to psi-null beings, they could affect them as well, though to a slightly lesser degree._

_By this point in the war, every resistance fighter was extensively trained in erecting mental shields, and most were no longer affected by this sort of long-distance attack. Spock specifically had never again allowed himself to be harmed like he had been that terrible day on the_ Enterprise _._

_However, the Vehsins had another weapon, carried by both types of the alien species. This was the weapon that made the subjugation of the Federation so easy. The rebels had no name for it but every member was fully aware of its use and feared the circumstances in which they would be subjected to it._

_It was a thin rod made from a metallic sort of rock native (assumedly) to the Vehsin home planet, and it amplified and intensified their natural telepathic abilities. It was one of the main torture devices used in the reprogramming centers, and there was no guarding against it when it was applied directly to the skin. Entirely debilitating, it caused elevated levels of pain and confusion as well as serious physical damage. When overused, it could easily kill.]_

The Vehsin pressed the rod harder into Spock's side, centering the device directly over his heart. He sank to his knees, grinding his teeth against the pain, and avoided touching anything with his bare hands, knowing the overwhelming telepathic transfer would almost immediately render him unconscious. Still, he was already starting to feel the sensory overload, and knew it would be very soon before he broke and started screaming.

Just as he let out a first sob, the Vehsin removed the rod and looked down at him. "Did you attack the base on Thern IV?" it buzzed, almost sounding bored, and Spock shook his head groggily.

"W-we are… traders… peaceful…" Spock gasped out, and the rod was reapplied.

"Do not lie to me, Vulcan. Did you attack the base?"

"No!" Spock moaned, grabbing at his head.

The Vehsin laughed nastily. "Gods, I love to watch Vulcans come apart." He ground the rod in harder, and Spock was unable to stop another whimper slipping past his lips. Unseen behind him, Scotty made an aborted gesture to grab his rifle, and McCoy shot out a hand, stilling him.

Unfortunately, their movements attracted the attention of the Vehsin. He withdrew the rod, leaving Spock curled up and panting on the deck, and waddled over to Scott and McCoy.

"Would you have anything to say that your captain does not?"

"No," Scott said firmly. "We're traders on our way to Bajor. We've never even heard of your Thren." He deliberately mispronounced the planet's name.

"Thern IV," the Vehsin said idly, then jabbed McCoy in the neck with the rod.

He screamed and fell to the deck, almost instantly unconscious. Scotty dropped to his knees next to the doctor, frantically searching for a pulse, but before he could find it, the Vehsin dragged him up by the back of his shirt.

"You," the Vehsin said idly to Scotty. "Show me your cargo."

There was a moment of silence, during which Spock silently willed Scott not to do or say anything. Finally though, he ground out, "This way," and led the Vehsin to the side of the bay. It did not let go of its death-grip on his shirt.

"It's mostly seeds and farmin' equipment," Scotty muttered, his tone just civil enough to not be mutinous. "A few personal packages between colonists, but no’ really much else. Nothin’ you'd want…"

"I will decide for myself what I want," the Vehsin snapped, and pushed Scotty away. He stumbled, but righted himself and continued to lead the Vehsin around the bay.

Spock rolled over, catching his breath and thankful that Scotty had suppressed his temper and was doing his best to distract the Vehsin. It was currently closely inspecting several crates of grain, and Scotty was droning about quality of crops. Spock took the opportunity to crawl over to McCoy to check his vitals.

It was not unheard of for the telepathic rod to cause cardiac arrest, especially in psi-null beings, (unaccustomed as they were to telepathic interference) but the doctor seemed to be merely unconscious. Spock sat up, vaguely aware that his ears itched, and when he wiped his hand along them, they came away green—smeared with blood.

"Of course," he muttered to himself, and checked the rest of his face. He had a bloody nose, too, and could taste copper in his mouth. Next to him, McCoy groaned, and Spock placed a gentle hand on his shoulder, signaling him to stay down.

He watched Scotty and the Vehsin from his position on the floor and suppressed the urge to simply rip the Vehsin's head off to rid them of this particular nuisance—but there was its ship to consider, and he did not know what type of backup the Vehsin was commanding.

Spock staggered to his feet and forced himself over to where Scott was still talking to the Vehsin.

"Yes, this will do," it was saying, and Scotty paled.

"Everythin’?" he stammered, and Spock closed his eyes in resignation. At this point, he did not care that it wanted all of their cargo—he just wanted it gone.

"Yes. The Vehsin high command desires farming equipment," the commander smirked, and Spock resigned himself to the fact that their cargo was probably going to be ejected somewhere in deep space. Anything to make life more miserable for the citizens living under Vehsin rule.

"Please," Spock rasped, and Scotty jumped. "Take our cargo freely. Anything to help our overlords."

"The Vehsin Empire thanks you," the commander said, grinning, its smile full of sharp, rather mossy-looking teeth. It turned to Scotty and instructed him to beam the cargo aboard its ship. He reluctantly agreed and stalked to the docking bay's transport controls, and a few angry gestures later, the entire cargo dematerialized.

The Vehsin commander clapped its meaty pinchers together. "Excellent. Now… Senik… would you like to give me a tour of your vessel? I would like very much to see how a Vulcan runs his 'merchant ship'." Spock heard the quotations in the Vehsin's voice, and closed his eyes in misery. Their chances of escaping this encounter alive were growing slimmer by the second.

Apparently, Spock's reply had been too slowing in coming, because the next moment, his chin was forced up by the silver rod. He choked involuntarily, felt bile rising in his throat. "Yes!" he cried out, and the rod was removed.

He shakily straightened up and met Scotty's worried eyes. "Mister Scott, would you please take the Doctor to his quarters to recuperate. I will show our guest around the ship myself." Scotty nodded and went to collect McCoy, who was now sitting on the ground, his head hanging between his knees.

"Please," Spock turned to the Vehsin and gestured toward the back of the ship. "Would you like to start in the engine room?" From the corner of his eye, he watched Scotty and McCoy stagger out of the bay.

The Vehsin seemed to consider for a moment, then shook its head. "I would like to see your medical facilities," it buzzed, and Spock nodded slowly. He turned and led the way toward the medbay, vaguely wondering if he would be allowed to run a regenerator over himself while they were there. He doubted it. He reached up and wiped more blood away from where it was trickling out of his ears.

His mind was fuzzy enough as they walked (he was considering how to keep the Vehsin off the bridge) that it took him a moment to realize the commander had stopped halfway down the hallway to the medbay.

It had stopped directly in front of the panel behind which Jim was hiding.

"An interesting thing," it commented, its antennae waving wildly, "about this class of ship. They lend themselves exceedingly well to hidden compartments in the hull. Would you know anything about that?"

Spock opened his mouth to respond, but before he could get a word out, the silver rod was pressing into his left temple. His vision began to blur, and he felt a blood vessel burst in his left eye. He instantly grasped at any thought that could distance him from the pain—chess. On the  _Enterprise's_  observation deck. With a cup of lovely spice tea.

"Pay attention!" the Vehsin commanded, and snapped him across the face with the rod. He felt his jaw fracture. A deep breath—concentrate—if the Vehsin took its aggression out on him, the rest of the crew could be saved… Jim would be saved…

"Open the hatch," the Vehsin ordered, its voice low and dangerous.

"No ha'ch," Spock slurred, unable to school his mouth into working.

"I know you're hiding something," the Vehsin said, punctuating his words with sharp jabs to random parts of Spock's body with the rod. "My guess ( _jab_ ) is that you attacked ( _jab_ ) our base ( _long jab_ ) and liberated several prisoners who were serving time there ( _jab_ ). And I just bet that at least one of them is hiding behind this panel."

"You… 'ssume inc'rr'tly," Spock carefully breathed, attempting not to move his mouth.

"Do I?" purred the Vehsin, and then grabbed Spock's jaw roughly in its pinchers. It lowered its voice. "Open the hatch."

Spock shook his head, even though he felt his bones grinding under the Vehsin's punishing claw, felt the skin on his face sliced open from the sharp grip.

"No ha'ch," he repeated, and the Vehsin rolled its eyes.

"Very well," it buzzed, and forced Spock's head toward the ground. Spock grunted in pain and his legs collapsed, but the Vehsin released him. Groggily, he looked up to see it inspecting the hatch, its antennae twitching forward eagerly.

"Tell me, Senik," it said conversationally, (Spock noticed with growing horror that its pinchers were bare centimeters away from the hidden catch) "why was it that when my ship initially scanned yours, you registered as having six life forms, yet when I was… acquiring your cargo… my ship ran another scan and found only five? You are aware that signal disruptors are illegal, are you not?"

"Please," Spock ground out through the pain, and the Vehsin turned to look at him. "Please, d'not harm m'crew. I…"

The Vehsin shook its head, seemingly amused, then turned back to the panel. Its claw touched the hidden catch and with a sound of metal scraping against metal, the hatch opened. In the same instant, Jim rolled out, attempting to get a clean shot at the Vehsin. But it had the advantage of position, looming over Jim, and with a sharp crack to his head (which left him reeling) it relieved him of the phaser.

The Vehsin blinked down at him for a moment before grinning widely. "You are far from your home… Saul… I think you should come with me. Your handlers would be glad to see you."

"Nah, that's alright," Jim countered, rubbing his head and wisely staying still, as the Vehsin was pointing the phaser directly between his eyes. "I like it here."

Behind the Vehsin, Spock struggled to stand, and finally righted himself, swaying on his feet. The Vehsin twitched an antennae his direction, but spoke without taking its eyes off Jim. "Senik, Senik… though I believe it is more likely that your real name is, in fact, Spock… you have made your final mistake. I simply cannot allow such insubordination to pass. You were never supposed to find him, you meddling filth." It reached for its communicator.

"Saul and I will beam back to my ship, and then yours will be destroyed. I suggest you tell your crew to make their peace. And Saul, I think it might be time for another treatment. Too many memories floating around that head of yours… lies these people have told you."

Spock took a decisive step forward (adrenaline rushing now, dulling his pain) and placed his hands on both sides of the Vehsin's head.

"No," he said simply, and with a sharp twist, broke its neck. It slumped to the floor, dead, and Spock staggered back against the wall, slid down, and passed out.

('')

When Spock came to, it was to the sound of quiet beeping—he was in the medical bay. He was vaguely aware that someone was holding his hand, and through their contact he was getting feelings of soothing peace, worry, and flashes of anger.

"Jim," he said, and pulled his hand away. A second later, Jim was peering down at him, worried and chewing on his lip.

"I am all right," Spock mumbled, and cautiously delved into his body to make sure that was actually the case. Indeed, he was acceptable. He's apparently put himself into a healing trance to fix the internal bleeding and fractures caused by the Vehsin.

The Vehsin.

Spock sat up sharply. "What—" he breathed, and Jim smiled, raised his hands.

"It's cool, don't worry. Sybok did some fancy maneuver, and we flashburned the Vehsin ship before warping out. We ejected the commander in the direction of some random star. Everything's fine."

Spock relaxed and slumped back down on the bed. "Good," he murmured, and then worked his jaw, testing how it had healed. Excellent, apparently—he had full range of motion with no pain.

A moment later, there was a commotion from outside and then Sybok slammed into the medbay, obviously seething. Spock glanced at him, already exhausted by his brother's seeping emotions.

"I set an alert to sound when you woke up, Spock," Sybok snapped. "Fucking  _faelirh ch'susse-thrai_  Vehsin  _fvai_!" he continued, and Spock took a deep breath.

"It was logical to allow myself injury to satiate its need for violence, rather than give it further reason to search the ship," he said softly.

"It searched the ship anyway!" Sybok snapped. "You had to break its neck, you  _still_  almost died, and you're fucking lucky I'd been edging away from their ship on _thrusters_ , or my turn and burn would have caught us too and we'd all have been one big,  _dead,_ fireball.

"You've been out for six days," Jim told him, ignoring Sybok.

"None of those facts are of any consequence. I maintain that my choices were the most logical course of action in the situation presented, though I am grateful for your actions. Both of you. Spock said calmly as Sybok continued to swear and rage next to him.

Jim leaned forward. "I've been meaning to ask—isn't he Vulcan, too?"

"Yes." Spock leveled his best non-glare at this brother and was soundly ignored. "He belonged to a sect that embraced their emotions and rejected the teachings of Surak."

Jim hummed in agreement. "Ah."

Sybok took a breath, then (much calmer, to Spock's relief) placed a hand on his brother's shoulder. "The crew was worried. We haven't seen the Vehsins react with such malice in several months."

"They did recently lose a military research facility, as well as the scientists they were using for the research. And this one seemed to know that we were harboring fugitives; therefore it is logical that they would be upset," Spock countered, and tried to stop his head from spinning. He was still exhausted. Despite the healing trance's exceeding usefulness, he desperately needed rest.

Sybok rocked on his heels before speaking again. "McCoy sustained minor bruising and some residual headaches, but he's otherwise all right. He's worried about you, though."

"Understood. I will soon be acceptable. Please apologize to the crew, but I require further rest. I will sleep in my quarters," Spock finally said, after he had a brief and difficult battle with his stomach to not throw up. Sybok nodded and helped him to his feet. Spock then promptly almost collapsed when he tried to stand on his own.

"Hey, I've got you, don't worry," Jim breathed, ducking under his arm to support him, and Spock felt a rush of affection. How many times had had he heard those words on away missions, during diplomatic proceedings… Jim let him lean on him as he walked toward the medbay door, and Spock ignored Sybok's pointed look.

"Wait," Sybok called after them, and Spock paused.

"Yes?"

"We need a heading. We're just floating out in the black—keeping away from patrols."

Oh. Captainly duty called. "Are our fuel reserves sufficient to make it to Earth?" Spock asked.

Sybok hesitated. "I think so. We might be cutting it close, but Scotty and I'll work on it. I'll let you know if there's a problem."

"Thank you, Sybok," Spock said, suddenly past the point of total exhaustion. He was quite glad his brother was able to step up and take charge. At least one of them could function fully.

Then Jim was tugging on his arm, and Spock allowed himself to be led to his quarters. Once inside, Jim guided him to his bunk, only pausing to help him remove his boots (black Starfleet issue, used and abused to a dirty grey) and shirt.

"This is unnecessary, Jim. I am capable…"

"No, it's fine. Besides, I wanna talk to you."

"I require sleep. Can this not wait until tomorrow?"

Jim smiled slightly. "Yea, but it won't take long." He plunged in. "You only killed that Vehsin after it saw me. You didn't even try to protect yourself. Why?"

Spock hesitated, then said, "It recognized you. I could not allow it to tell its superiors that you were aboard the ship."

"Why am I such a big deal?" Jim asked, confused. "I don't know anything…" Spock started to shrug, but yawned instead. It took a moment before he was coherent enough to speak, and his still slightly muddled state made him slightly more willing to divulge information he would have otherwise kept to himself.

"You are the 'biggest of deals' to me. Your safety is worth anything. But I do not know why the Vehsins are so invested in recapturing you. Perhaps more will be understood if your memories are returned."

An odd expression settled on Jim's face, but he leaned Spock back onto his bunk, thankfully dropping the subject. He appeared to think for a moment, then his face resolved. He leaned forward and pressed a dry kiss to Spock's forehead.

"Well, thanks," he said awkwardly after pulling back. "I'll see you whenever you wake up."

Spock nodded once and then almost immediately fell asleep. As a result, he didn't see that Jim lingered in his quarters for a few minutes longer, nor register that Jim reached out a hand to gently smooth down his mussed hair.

('')

Spock's second time awakening after the issue with the Vehsin found him much better. He sat up slowly and rubbed his eyes before glancing at his chronometer. He had slept for another fifteen hours.

He stood and stumbled toward the bathroom—he needed a thorough cleaning. Whoever had cleaned him up while he lay unconscious (likely McCoy, but he half-wished it had been Jim) had done as good of a job as could be expected, but he could feel his scalp pulling where blood had dried.

The sonic shower was pleasant and slightly tingly, though it didn't do a particularly good job of detangling his hair. But it removed the leftover blood and dirt, which was all that really mattered. He let his mind drift, thinking about nothing of importance. He pondered on how the humans aboard preferred water showers, but besides the obvious issues of transporting such large reserves of water, he disliked them a great deal. That much liquid cascading over him always left him feeling like he was drowning.

The shower dinged at him, complete in its run, and he pulled on a light robe before going back to his quarters and lighting some incense. He was experiencing a great deal of residual anger and worry and yes, even fear, from the encounter with the Vehsin, and wanted to calm his mind before facing anyone. He settled on his mat and sank into his meditations.

A little over two hours later, he resurfaced to find that he was no longer alone. Jim smiled sheepishly at him from where he was perched on Spock's bed, and said, "Hey."

"Greetings," Spock said. "Is there something with which I can assist you?"

Jim shrugged. "I was getting kinda ganged up on by everybody. They're awfully excited that I'm… around. And then Sybok said you'd probably be awake by now and I guess I wanted to talk to you, but you were meditating and I wanted to watch. Sybok's been trying to teach me to do that, but I can't seem to get it to work very well."

"Sybok has been instructing you in meditation?" Spock answered incredulously, and Jim grinned.

"He said you'd freak. Something about how he wasn't particularly balanced…"

"Indeed he is not," Spock replied, but he was smiling slightly. "I can attempt to instruct you, if that is your desire."

Jim smiled at him again. "Yea, that'd be good. Sybok said that if I was able to meditate, it might help me open my mind to my memories."

"Has he melded with you?" Spock asked, and fought down a surge of jealousy. He had, after all, told Jim that Sybok would be able to help him where he could not.

"Yea, once," Jim muttered. "He got pushed out just like you did." Spock nodded, and Jim glanced down, playing with the blankets. Spock watched him for a moment, then rose and sat next to him on the bed.

"You are nervous," he observed. "Why?"

Jim blinked and made a gesture that if he allowed himself to complete it would have resulted in snuggling up to Spock. But Spock allowed a gently alarmed look to settle on his face, and Jim reluctantly pulled back.

"I've been talking a lot to Sybok. He's really the only person—besides you—who isn't treating me like some prodigal fucking son," he added slightly bitterly. "And I know, it's crazy that I'm alive. Believe me, I've heard it about five hundred times in the last few days." He sighed. "Anyway, Sybok gave me an idea for how I could sort of get my life back. I want you to meld with me again, to give me your memories."

Spock blanched. "That would be inadvisable."

Jim frowned, and the familiar look of determination on his face made Spock want to smile. "Why not? I talked to Sybok, and he told me that you and I were together every day for four years before I got shot. You know everything about me, and he said we've probably melded before, which means you have a good idea of how my mind should work. He even said that you'd have seen my memories, and if you gave them back to me, it'd be almost like having my own back…"

"They would  _not_  be your memories, Jim," Spock interrupted. "They would be how I know you, how I see you. Even things I have seen in previous melds would be affected by my feelings for you. And… I do not know if you would be comfortable with that," he finished, and fought a rising feeling of discomfort.

Jim sighed again. "Yea, no, I get it. It's just… I've been talking to everyone and they tell me these things I've done and I have no idea—nothing. And then there's  _you_ , and Jesus, most of the time we've spent together one of us has been unconscious, but that doesn't change the fact that I can't even explain what I feel about you." He paused and inspected his hands. Spock watched him, waited for him to speak again.

"It's like there's something pulling me toward you," Jim finally said. "And I just wanna be near you but every time you look at me you get this… broken… look, and I know you're thinking about how I used to be and how that's not how I am now, and it's really fucking hard, Spock."

"I apologize for causing you distress," Spock said, and lay back on his bed so he wouldn't have to look at Jim anymore. "That is not my intention."

"I know," Jim muttered. "I just wanna understand, is all." There was a moment of hesitation before he spoke again. "Will you at least tell me stories about myself, and people I know… to give me some background?"

Spock nodded mutely and there was the noise of shifting clothes above him. Suddenly Jim was lying next to him, pressed against his side.

"Tell me how we met," Jim muttered, and Spock curled (slightly guiltily) toward his warmth. Jim carefully kept his hands in entirely appropriate locations, and Spock quirked a sad smile.

"Our initial interactions were rather contentious. The first time we met, you were a cadet at Starfleet Academy, and I was an instructor. I programmed a test called the Kobiyashi Maru…"


	5. (Pause)

The Vehsin Queen's antennae twitched forward, and her son (not high enough in the ranks to warrant a name, though he was a second level) screamed in agony from where he was lying on the ground at her feet.

"You let a  _Vulcan_  escape?" she clarified, and he nodded miserably.

"My queen, please, he must have overpowered and killed Commander Aatn. He was labeled reprogrammed, there should not have been an issue—"

"And yet there was," the queen sighed. "This is unacceptable. Now I will ask you again. Was Kirk aboard the Vulcan's ship?"

"W-we do not know, my queen. Aatn believed they were hiding something, and on the second scan there was a missing life form…" The queen shook her head, amazed at her children's ineptitude. She should have known better to have placed the recapturing of one of the Empire's most dangerous prisoners in the hands of a male.

"My son," she said, bending down and placing a gentle claw on her unlucky progeny's forehead. "You have suffered much." Her black eyes trailed over his burnt body—a souvenir from the massive fires lit aboard his ship when the Vulcan's had escaped. He was worse than useless at this point—a strain on the colony. "Let me free you from your misery."

His eyes widened when he realized the meaning of her words, but any protest he might have voiced was shut off by a sharp twitch of her antennae. He scrabbled at his head for a moment, jerking, and then fell still, slumping back onto the stones at the queen's feet. Small trickles of black blood began to drip from his eyes.

The queen gestured at his body and three level five slave males hurried forward to clear it away. She sat down on her throne and watched them struggle for a moment before raising her head and peering into the shadows of the chamber. Her daughters (all five of them thin and powerful with beautiful sharp wings) stepped forward into the light, hoping they would be allowed to prove themselves.

"Find James Kirk," the queen ordered. "Quickly, before the Vulcan finds a way to free his mind." She considered for a moment before continuing. "You know, my daughters, that you  _all_  are my life. But the one who finds Kirk will be my heir." She waved a claw in dismissal, and with quick glances at one another, the five female Vehsin buzzed into the air and toward the dock to claim their ships.

The queen watched them go, then heaved herself up and waddled toward the birthing chamber. She was heavy with her next brood—it was time to lay new soldiers.


	6. To Earth

They were able to make it to the Terran system with only the smallest strain on Scotty and the ship. The _Yeht-gav_ slipped into orbit around Jupiter and Spock considered what their next step should be.

The best possible thing to do would be to contact Admiral Pike. In turn, Pike could direct them toward a Vulcan mind-healer, (whom the Vehsins hunted without mercy, and therefore were all deep in hiding) who may be able to help remove the block on Jim's mind.

Currently, Spock's main goal was healing Jim, and though he hadn't spoken explicitly of this motivation to anyone on the crew, he assumed his wish was reciprocated. As a result, he'd turned down offers of raids as they passed through various systems, had purposefully skirted a Vehsin base that was particularly vulnerable and was generally flying as low on the radar as possible. There would be time for battles later, after Jim was whole again. No one had complained or even commented on the unusual lack of aggression.

Spock (alone on the bridge in the early morning) allowed his thoughts to drift, as they were wont of late, to Jim. He had proved extremely useful on the ship, flitting from the engine room to the helm to the medbay, picking up any slack and helping everyone who needed it. And after the crew had adjusted from the initial shock of his continued existence, they treated him much more normally, to Jim's obvious relief.

He fit in well (had there been any chance that he would not?) and Spock found himself hoping that no matter what happened, Jim would desire to stay aboard the _Yeht-gav_. He certainly didn't want to let Jim out of his sight—masochistic as that desire may be.

However, he had continued to refuse to give Jim his memories, reluctant to share that amount of emotion with him. It continued to be their only point of contention—Jim insisting it wouldn't matter once he got his memories back, and Spock unwilling to be so blindly optimistic. His mouth quirked in annoyance as he thought of their latest disagreement regarding this topic—the argument had eventually resulted in raised voices in the mess hall within full earshot of the rest of the crew, much to Spock's displeasure.

That had been during last night's dinner, and Spock was now brooding alone, as it was 0200 in the morning and any sane being was asleep at this hour. He was sitting in his chair, staring dully at his thin jacket and wondering at just how much he hated the Vehsins for destroying everything that he had loved.

He rarely indulged in self-pity, but right now there was no one awake to see him engage in such an illogical vice. Various (non-emergency, but time consuming) events over the last few days had seemingly conspired against him receiving any relief from meditation—he had been repeatedly interrupted, and that discomfort combined with his and Jim's latest fight resulted in him feeling decidedly off-kilter.

Three years, one month, twelve days ago, he had been sitting at the science station on the greatest ship the Federation had to offer, working on a paper outlining the relative affects of deep space electron particle storms on starship travel—for no other reason than it was an interesting topic. He served under the best captain in the fleet, and was surrounded by some of the brightest minds in the galaxy.

He had been in a relationship with a man who loved him, and though he was still a member of an endangered species, this ache was numbing slightly over time. He had full control over his emotional state and the overwhelming majority of the time, he was content. And though he would never admit it aloud, he was often very happy.

Today, he was an unwilling captain of a ship of fugitives. The man he loved ( _once thought lost, and now returned_ , the optimistic part of his brain whispered) had no memories of him, and the chances of him regaining those memories were slim. 95% of his family, friends, and acquaintances were dead. His ship was low on fuel and he possessed no credits or latinum with which to purchase more.

To top everything off, his control over his emotions was tenuous at best—and despite his intentions to not allow this to bother him, the mere fact that he  _was_  bothered meant that he had irrevocably failed in being a proper Vulcan. He envied Sybok, who had accepted his emotions with free will. Spock fingered a hole in his jacket. "And I am cold," he muttered petulantly to himself. "I am always cold."

"I can help with that," a voice behind him said suggestively, and Spock jumped. He had been so wrapped up in his thoughts that he hadn't even registered the sound of the bridge door opening. After taking a moment to reassert his control, he turned to Jim.

Who else would sneak up behind him at two in the morning?

"You are unable to assist me in regulating my body temperature, though the sentiment is appreciated," he said, turning back around to again stare out the view screen. He refused to allow himself thoughts about how Jim actually  _could_  help him regulate his temperature.

His statement earned him a condescending (but slightly amused) look. Jim padded over to him and leaned against the arm of his chair, crossing his arms across his threadbare sweater. "You're upset," he said, and Spock repressed the urge to roll his eyes.

"Astute," he returned, and Jim laughed.

"You are also the king of snark," Jim sniped gently, with a small smile.

"Do you require my assistance with something?" Spock leaned back and ignored the fact that Jim's mere proximity caused his heart rate to elevate three percent. He at first attempted to tell himself it was residual anger from their fight, but the words were hollow even in his head. He wished Jim was not so…  _affecting._

"I was meditating, cause I was pissed…" Jim briefly met Spock's eyes and paused. Both men had the courtesy to appear apologetic, and after a moment, Jim continued. "I was doing that deep calm thing you've been teaching me, and I remembered something."

"Indeed?" Spock perked up, interested.

"Yea. I was in a bar, and I think I got into a fight, and Uhura was there…"

Spock raised an eyebrow. "I believe that is the story of how you were recruited for Starfleet. Admiral Pike recognized you in the bar and dared you into joining."

"I was  _dared_  into joining Starfleet? What kinda idiot was I?" Jim laughed shortly, then shook his head, his face clouding. "I wish—"

"I am not giving you my memories," Spock said shortly. "It is inappropriate. I will not force my emotions on you."  _Do not start this fight **again**  today, Jim, please, _he thought desperately.

Jim apparently had no such reservations. He huffed, obviously angry, and with a quick movement, spun around Spock's chair so he was bracing both hands on the arm rests—effectively pinning Spock to the seat.

"We've been in constant contact for six weeks, and being around you…" He didn't finish his sentence—instead let out a shaky breath. He lowered his voice and changed tactics. "What if I told you that you  _weren't_  forcing yourself on me?"

"…Your assessment of the situation would be… incorrect…" Spock muttered, shifting uncomfortably, and Jim rolled his eyes.

"I want to touch you," Jim said, his voice almost too low to hear. "And any idiot could see you want me, too." His eyes were huge and unbearably blue and dilated and honest and Spock was suddenly having difficulty breathing. He was unsure how an argument about sharing memories had changed into an argument about physical intimacy, but at this stage he was in no shape to process the switch.

"We were together before," Jim continued. "And I want my life back, and that includes _you_ , Spock. Unless you have someone else…”

Spock stared at Jim's open face, and then against his will, (his brain fuzzily rationalized ' _emotionally compromised'…)_ his eyes flicked down to Jim's lips. "There is no one else," Spock muttered.

Jim smirked and sucked his bottom lip slightly into his mouth. "Spock…" he purred, and leaned closer. They were barely inches apart.

And Spock was gone.

He pulled Jim to him, licking at that lip, kissing him, and Jim melted into him, leaning forward to straddle his lap and moaning into his mouth. Spock sucked in a needful breath, sharing Jim's air, and slid his fingers into Jim's hair, (which he had not yet cut—strands had escaped the ponytail and were hanging in his eyes) and edged around to the side of his head, where he suddenly encountered the slightly rougher skin of the starburst on his temple.

He hissed and pulled back. "No, Jim. We are not… this is not…" Jim watched him with wide eyes, breathing accelerated, but didn't try to kiss him again. Spock closed his eyes and leaned his head back.

"You cannot reciprocate the feelings I have for you. I love someone who does not currently exist, and if I were to act on this, I would be in the wrong."

Jim shifted back, frowning. "What if I never get my memories back, Spock? Will you stay away from me for the rest of our lives?"

"I do not know." Spock snapped, and Jim recoiled like he'd been slapped.

"Right," he said softly, then slid off Spock's lap and looked at the ground. He did not, however, leave, and Spock closed his eyes, wondering if their situation could possibly become more awkward. When he reopened them, Jim was standing over Uhura's usual console, eyes skimming the readouts.

"What are we doing hanging around Jupiter?" he finally asked, and Spock was endlessly grateful for the change of topic, uncomfortable though it may be.

"I am waiting for the proper time to send an encrypted message to Admiral Pike. We hide the transmission in the readings that are taken when Jupiter's Red Spot is pointed at Earth."

"Devious. Why are you talking to Pike?"

"He will be able to put us in contact with Vulcan mind healers."

Jim blinked. "Wait, you've been doing this all for me? All the sneaking past the Vehsins? I thought… I thought you had some mission you were headed toward. Don't you have another reason to be near Earth?"

"The regaining of your memories would be most advantageous to the rebellion. We do not have any particular cause to be here otherwise," Spock admitted. "Though, if it is safe we may attempt to land. We have friends on Earth, and it would be the easiest port at which to refuel, as I would not need to purchase fuel from traders. It may _not_  be safe, however. The resistance has recently stepped up its aggression, and the Vehsins know that it is often Terrans leading the movements."

Jim regarded Spock silently for a moment, then shook his head. "You're putting yourselves in danger for me."

Spock raised an eyebrow. "You are in danger as well. And it is not as if we are unused to being hunted. Every member of this crew is a fugitive. I am number ten of the Vehsin's most wanted criminals in the Alpha Quadrant, and Sybok is number three. Our entire crew numbers in the top thirty. Truthfully, you would likely be served better if you were to leave this ship."

Jim crossed his arms defiantly. "I will  _not_  be doing that," he snapped, but then blinked and faltered. "Unless… I mean, if you don't want…"

"You are wanted aboard the  _Yeht-gav_ ," Spock said softly. "There will always be a place for you here, regardless of our…" he waved his hand in a vague gesture (a habit he had picked up from spending entirely too much time around humans) and finished lamely, "Our issues."

A quiet chime sounded in the silence that followed that statement, and Spock rose (was forced to brush past Jim, who resolutely stood his ground) and walked to the communications array. He pressed a few buttons, then picked up a headset and reeled off a lengthy call number. He paused for a moment, listening, then said, "Le-matya requesting communication with tigershark. Over."

He dropped the headset to the console, then started flicking between readouts, doing his best to ignore the other man on the bridge. After a moment, Jim sighed. "I'm not going to jump you again. No means no—I don't like it, but I get it." There was a moment of silence before he continued. "So… that was the whole message to Pike? Didn't make much sense."

Spock shook his head. "That was simply a request for contact. Pike will respond to us within the hour. It is safer for him to send the transmission out than for us to transmit in. They have signal disruptors that mask their true location, but such machinery is too bulky for this ship."

"Right," Jim said. "Being locked up for years doesn't make me as down-low communication savvy as all you badass resistance-types," he teased gently, and Spock quirked a smile despite his resolve to be unemotional around him. "Can I stay for the transmission? I kinda wanna meet this Admiral Pike dude. Does he know I'm alive?"

"We have not had contact with him since your rescue. The only ones who are aware of your survival remain ourselves and the Vehsin." Spock said, contemplating what Pike would say when he realized Jim was still alive. "By all means, stay."

They spent the next twenty minutes discussing Vulcan mind-healers and how they would be able to help Jim. Both men were relieved that the atmosphere quickly became less stifling once they moved away from the topic of their personal connection.

"A Betazoid would be preferable," Spock was telling Jim, "but I do not believe any have survived the Vehsin genocide. They were especially brutal when dealing with that race. We are lucky the Vulcan race has not been similarly entirely eradicated."

Jim opened his mouth to answer, but was interrupted by that same soft chime that had sounded before. Spock rose and pressed a few buttons on the communication array, and Admiral Pike's face flickered to life on the view screen—significantly more lined and tired than he had been even eight months ago when Spock had last spoken to him.

"Spock!" he said, a wide smile on his face. "It's great to see you, I was worried when we didn't hear from anyone after that raid Sulu planned. How'd it go?"

"The raid surpassed all expectations," Spock answered truthfully. "Admiral, there is someone I… well. Jim, come here." He gestured, and Jim stepped closer to him, into the line of sight of the screen.

Pike's smile faltered, and his eyes widened in shock. "Kirk? That's… the hell?"

Jim stepped forward slightly. "I was being held on Thern IV. I… I don't have any memories of before I was there. Spock and everyone have been… filling me in on who I'm supposed to be."

Spock placed a hand on Jim's shoulder, stopping his nervous words. "Doctor McCoy believes he was resuscitated after being shot. Sybok and I have preformed melds and ascertained that there is a mental block of an artificial origin impeding his thoughts. There is no physical reason for the memory loss, but Admiral—do not doubt me. This is James Kirk, and he is very much alive.

Pike ran a hand over his face, and when he looked at them again, Spock was mildly startled to see that he had tears in his eyes. "Jesus, I don't know what to say. Jim, you have no idea…"

Jim shot a glance at Spock, who was busy exercising his ability to be exceptionally stoic. "I have some idea. I think Spock just about had a heart attack when he saw me in that cell."

"I can imagine," Pike mumbled, and then to Spock: "Were you planning on coming to Earth?"

"That depends, Admiral," Spock said, seizing the opportunity to steer the conversation away from his reaction to Jim. "I was hoping you would be able to put us in contact with a Vulcan mind-healer."

Pike looked contemplative. "I think I can pull that off, but it's going to take a bit of work. It should be safe to fly in—there were some 'issues' in the Gliese system, and a good portion of the blockade is out there. Anyway, you know the procedure, and I'll send you coordinates. You can stow your ship and we'll beam you over from there."

"Very well," Spock said, and Pike signed off. A moment later, the nav console beeped, and Jim stepped forward to set their trajectory.

"Are we going now?" he asked, and Spock shook his head.

"We will wait until 0700 hours. It is unwise to fly in as soon as we have concluded transmitting." Spock sank down to his chair again and watched Jim putter at the console. Finally, he said, "You should attempt to rest. Doubtless your arrival on Earth will cause a stir amongst the resistance fighters."

Jim rubbed his neck and looked uncomfortable again. "Right, yea. I guess I'll…" he straightened up and turned to go, but paused when he was standing directly in front of Spock. "I may not have all my memories, but I'm still  _me_ , aren't I? Has my personality wildly changed or something?"

Spock stared at him for a long time before answering. "No. Your personality is remarkably the same as it always was."

Jim quirked a half-smile. "Right." Then he leaned forward and pressed a quick closed mouthed kiss to Spock's temple. "I'll see you in a few hours." He left the bridge.

Spock watched him go, and when the door slid shut, he ran his hands through his hair and slumped in his chair. He would give a week's rations for a chance to meditate.

('')

0700 came, and Spock woke the rest of the crew to prepare for the flight. Uhura and Sybok rose immediately—Nyota practically bouncing with excitement. Her sister lived with the fighters on Earth, and she was thrilled that she'd be able to see her. Sybok was amiable because whatever made Nyota happy made him happy.

Scott and McCoy rose with a bit more grumbling. Scotty had apparently spent most of the night fiddling with the  _Yeht-gav_ 's engines and had only managed the barest amount of sleep. McCoy simply did not like getting up early, though he was glad they were headed to Earth. All messages from his daughter (who was in hiding off-planet with her mother) came to him via the resistance base, and he hoped there would be a message waiting.

Flying into Earth was always risky—there was a sphere of patrol stationed around the planet. Out of necessity, the trip was made almost entirely on impulse engines, near silently and with most systems in the ship off-line. Scotty was excellent at this sort of flying, and at 0824, the  _Yeht-gav_  glided smoothly through Earth's atmosphere and landed in a small clearing in the Amazon rain forest.

Spock turned on their beacon briefly, announcing they had arrived, then powered up the cloaking device. The area they were in was well-shielded by various protective measures, but there was no reason to take unnecessary risks. Within five minutes of him announcing their presence, the crew felt the whirr of transporters and they disappeared in a smear of white.

They rematerialized in a non-descript, windowless room, and Jim sucked in a nervous breath. The only features of the room were the transporter pad, a single door (with no interior handle) and a large one-way mirror. He moved slightly closer to Spock, and whispered, "Is this an interrogation room?"

"Yes," Spock admitted, noting—but not moving away from—Jim's close proximity. "It is always somewhat disconcerting when we initially arrive," he continued. "But the need for security is great. Toward the beginning of the war, the Vehsins were able to smuggle in an explosive device with a returning crew. It is safer to place all incoming personnel in this room where we can be scanned."

After a few more beats of silence, the one door to the room swung open, and Chris Pike appeared. He strode in, made a beeline for Jim, and immediately pulled him into a bruising hug. "Jesus, kid, I still didn't believe it, but you're here, you're really alive."

"Uh…" Jim awkwardly returned the hug, and after a moment, Pike stepped back.

"Sorry, I know you don't remember me. But believe me, having you back… if we weren't in hiding, we'd throw a damn parade."

Jim plastered on a smile and stepped back, again moving closer to Spock, who successfully fought down his instinct to move to bodily protect him.

"Anyway," Pike continued, "Come on, everyone. I think we'll be able to scrounge up some real food for our favorite crew."

"Don't tell Hikaru you're showing preference," Uhura said, and Pike laughed.

"You know you're all my favorites—as long as you show up alive," he said, and led them from the room.

Immediately upon their exit the crew was greeted by a small knot of resistance fighters, among them Nyota's sister, Shani. Apparently Pike had informed everyone on the base of Jim's continued existence, and so the reception was one of barely contained glee. Everyone tried to make Jim feel welcome, but he still ended up awkwardly hovering by Spock's side.

There were hugs all around, introductions for Jim, (though everyone else recognized him and he was the only one that actually needed introductions) and perhaps ten minutes after arriving, the crew found themselves in a long and narrow hall that apparently served as the mess.

Spock looked on as Jim nibbled toast, (apparently too nervous to eat much) and as Nyota and Shani gushed about various gossip. Sybok crunched through several apples, joking and flirting with Shani, who flushed under his attention (much to Nyota's annoyance).

Scotty cornered three men who had been introduced to Jim as fellow engineers, and within minutes they had a fast-paced poker game going. The betting pool consisted of quite possibly the strangest conglomeration of odds and ends Jim had ever seen (whiskey was worth more than wrenches but less than spare engine parts).

Bones disappeared for perhaps fifteen minutes and returned beaming—he had three messages from his daughter, who was apparently doing well on an unnamed planet. It was safer for her if her location remained a secret. "She's getting so damn big," Leonard told Spock and Jim, a wistful look in his eye. "God, I miss her."

Once his crew had regained their strength (there was nothing like real food when all you were used to was replicated blandness) Spock stood and excused himself. Jim's eyes widened nervously.

"You're just leaving? I can't come with you by any chance…" he asked quietly, and Spock shook his head.

"Admiral Pike and I need to attempt to contact the Vulcans." He regarded Jim closely. "You are not an introverted man, Jim. You will be acceptable without my constant presence."

Jim huffed. "I know I'll be  _fine_ , but everyone's just so… intense. And earnest. It's a little disconcerting."

Leonard threw his arm around Jim's shoulders, overhearing the tail end of their conversation. "I'll stick with you, keep the fangirls away."

Spock raised an eyebrow. "Thank you, Leonard." He leaned forward to Jim, who gave him a hopeful look (though hopeful about what, Spock was unsure). "I do not believe you need to be coddled, however," he said softly, and Jim quirked his mouth.

Then Spock moved away swiftly. Jim's face fell slightly, and Spock did not miss how the second he left, perhaps ten of the base's residents swooped in to take his place. He firmly told himself that he was simply being overprotective, and that Jim would be fine.

('')

Several hours later, Jim collapsed face first onto the bunk he'd been pointed toward by a very drunk Montgomery Scott. He was beyond exhausted—he'd been warned, but Jim hadn't realized just how ecstatic apparently the entire world was that he was still alive. It was extremely disconcerting—all these people loved him for things he had no idea he'd done. His was a household name, and everyone recognized his face. He couldn't remember ever feeling so weirded out—not that that was saying much.

The second Spock had left him to his own devices in the mess hall, he'd been practically mobbed by what seemed to be the entirety of the base's population. Faces became a blur, and he'd been hugged, back-clapped, fist-bumped and kissed (on the cheek, except for a particularly forward Orion woman who tried to stick her tongue down his throat) more times than he could count.

Several people had cried, and Jim couldn't have been more awkward if he'd tried—though everyone was friendly and accommodating. He had been shocked at the lengths random people were willing to go to in order to help him. The ones that stuck out the most were a small group of colonists headed for the Delta quadrant—people essentially flying to the complete unknown. They'd sworn to Jim that they would search high and low to find his brother and give him the news of Jim's survival.

Mind still reeling from contact-overload, (and perhaps slightly fuzzy from the one or two too many moonshine shots he'd shared with Scotty) Jim rolled over and buried his face in the thin pillow on the bunk. Pike had appeared toward the end of the night to tell Jim that he and Spock had successfully sent a message requesting communication to the Vulcan healers. There was nothing to do until they responded—hopefully within the next few hours. He resolved to try and get some sleep. God knows he'd need it if tomorrow was anything like today.

After awhile, he drifted off, dozing fitfully enough that he felt semi-conscious through his dreams. He was haunted by specters he both did and didn't recognize—an angry, purple-faced man was yelling at him about a car—he was dressed in a red uniform, defending himself against a panel of solemn-faced judges—he was grappling with a lizard monster on a desert planet.

His dreams slowly took a more pleasant bend, and he was dreaming about kissing Spock when he was shaken awake entirely too early by Leonard.

"Hey, wake up kid. We've got a message from the Vulcans. They wanna talk to you."

"Nngg… Sleepin', Bones…

"Yea, yea. You better get up. Spock's already been arguing with them for about twenty minutes."

Jim groaned and rolled over, but got up, yawning.

McCoy waited patiently while Jim raked his fingers through his hair and changed his shirt—he had the wherewithal to know that he probably shouldn't talk to the people who could possibly fix his head looking like he'd gone ten rounds with a Klingon.

"Hey, can I ask you a question?" Jim asked, smoothing his shirt down.

"Sure," McCoy drawled. "As long as is ain't about how to seduce Spock into your pants." Jim sighed, and McCoy rolled his eyes. "Listen kid, think about it from his perspective. You two were inseparable for years, minus your pretty explosive beginnings, and you'd been 'together'” (he raised his fingers in air quotes) “for a year and a half. Jumping into bed with you right now ain’t an easy thing for him."

Jim huffed, and finally ready, they left the bunkroom.

"But I'm still me," Jim groused. "I mean, yea, I don't exactly remember anything about our relationship, but that doesn't mean the attraction's not there."

Leonard looked vaguely uncomfortable. "Listen, kid. Would you want to settle down, bond with him? Right now, would you do it?"

Jim blinked. "No. That's a pretty big step."

Leonard shrugged. "Cause you know where we were headed when the Vehsins shot you? Did anyone tell you?" Jim shook his head, so McCoy continued. "We were headed to New Vulcan for you two to have a bonding ceremony. You were three days out from marrying the pointy-eared bastard."

"I… what? Why didn't anybody tell me that?" Jim stammered, suddenly off-kilter.

A shrug, and then Leonard patted him on the shoulder. "Spock doesn't want just a roll in the hay. He wants the man he was in love with. You gotta respect that, kid."

Leonard led a very shocked Jim the remainder of the way down several twisting corridors in complete silence. They were eventually dumped into a small room that was filled to the brim with computers and communication equipment.

Spock was standing stiffly in front of a monitor, speaking quickly in low tones. His words were clearly alien, but Jim was surprised to find that he recognized several of them. He turned to McCoy, breaking their silence. "Do I speak Vulcan?"

Leonard glanced at him. "Uh, a bit. I don't think you were fluent, but you were getting there."

"This is fucking weird," Jim mumbled, and rubbed his temples.

Spock finally noticed them, and gestured for Jim to join him in talking to whoever it was. Jim stepped forward, and on the screen, an ancient-looking Vulcan woman raised an elegant eyebrow.

"You are James Tiberius Kirk?" she asked, her thickly-accented voice crackly and distorted from the equipment.

Jim attempted to remain his most stoical. "So they tell me. I don't have any memories of who I am."

The elder redirected her attention back to Spock, and rattled off something else in Vulcan. Jim caught the words 'acceptable' 'dangerous' and 'unwanted,' but she was speaking too quickly for him to understand much more. He glanced at Spock, and was surprised to see that he was openly frowning.

Even more surprisingly, Spock interrupted the elder, and his voice was tinged with anger. " _Vu_   _dva-tor evek svik-tor vu_? [You think we would betray you?]"

" _Riolozhikaik vitehvar-tor sashila_ [It is illogical to endanger the colony]" the elder responded, a hint of steel in her voice.

Spock ground his teeth, and snapped out something too fast for Jim to make out, though he was fairly certain he caught the name ‘Nero’. The elder raised her eyebrow higher, but then turned to Jim and nodded slightly. "We owe you a debt," she said in Standard. "We will make an exception for you."

" _Th-i oxalra, dorli tela'at._  [I appreciate it, honorable elder]" Spock said, and the screen went blank without another word from the other Vulcan.

"What was that about?" Jim asked as soon as Spock took a breath to collect himself.

"It seems that the Vulcan counsel has become even more withdrawn and distrustful in the past years," Spock said, his voice quiet. "They are allowing us to seek help from a mind-healer, but with several stipulations. We will not be allowed to know the coordinates of the colony—all navigation will be done by the computers. We must leave immediately, and we may not bring any other crew. You and I are the only ones allowed in."

Jim frowned. "Sybok can't even come? He's Vulcan."

"Sybok was excommunicated from Vulcan society prior to the Vehsin takeover. He is no longer recognized as a Vulcan by the elders."

"Oh. That's… weird." Jim said, trying to puzzle out the oddness of the Vulcans.

"Indeed," Spock agreed. "Jim, it would be for the best if we left soon. T'Pau informed me that the trip will take two point two five months."

"Two months." Suddenly Jim beamed, rounded on Spock, grabbed his shoulders, and kissed him firmly on the lips, momentarily ignoring what Leonard had told him earlier and giving in to his ever-growing connection to the Vulcan. "Two months, Spock! Two months and I'll have my mind back!" He laughed and headed out of the room, grabbing McCoy and dragging him along behind him as he went.

('')

It was determined that the rest of the crew would remain on Earth with the resistance fighters for the estimated six months the journey would take. Sybok expressed his relief that he wasn't expected to visit the Vulcan colony, calling them 'stuck up assholes,' McCoy worried what would happen to Jim and Spock if they needed medical treatment, and Uhura and Scotty happily made plans to inflict as much damage to the Vehsins as the possibly could while planetside.

At 1000 hours the morning after the transmission from the Vulcan colony, Spock and Jim were arranging several crates of fresh food aboard the  _Yeht-gav_ —some for their own personal nutrition, some to offer to the Vulcans as a thank you for their help. The crates had been beamed over from the base, but Spock was insistent upon storing some in hidden hatches and carefully arranging and securing the rest by hand.

"So do you have any idea where we're going?" Jim asked Spock as they lugged the last of the crates into the  _Yeht-gav's_  bay.

"I do not know specifics, though based on the time we will be journeying, we will be remaining in the Alpha Quadrant. That is the extent of the specificity I can provide you," Spock grunted, levering a large box to the top of a pile. Once it was settled, he started tying their cargo down.

"How come you didn't join the colony?" Jim asked, clipping several tie downs into place on a neighboring stack of crates. He was curious—based on what he'd heard from the resistance fighters, Spock and Sybok were aberrations—all other remaining Vulcans had gone into hiding shortly after the Vehsin takeover.

Spock considered the question for a moment. "After my imprisonment, I felt that my particular talents would be better served in active resistance. My skill set was not as useful to the colony as it is to the rebellion."

Jim burst out laughing. "You wanted to kill some Vehsins! How illogical, Mister Spock."

Spock hrmphed in the back of his throat. "I admit, the sole desire to inflict harm upon others would be an illogical response to the situation, but that was not my only motivation."

"Yea?" Jim said, catching a tie down when Spock tossed it to him and winching it tight. "What's your other motivation, then?"

Spock dusted his hands off and headed to the bridge to make finals checks of the ship's systems. Jim trailed behind him, running his fingers over the smooth metal of the  _Yeht-gav's_  bulkhead. He felt immensely attached to this ship, even after spending such a short amount of time on it. He wondered if he had felt a similar connection to the  _Enterprise._

"I served aboard active starships that often saw battle, and on several occasions programmed and implemented strategies in hostile situations," Spock called over his shoulder. "I am exceptionally proficient in hand-to-hand combat, and am an expert marksman. Thus, despite my pacifist upbringing, I am extremely good at killing."

"Not really a useful skill for a Vulcan colony, I guess," Jim said, and Spock raised one shoulder slightly—his equivalent of a shrug.

"I also have personal issues with some of the decisions made by the elder counsel," Spock continued. "There is much we do not agree on. My opinions would have been considered… unwelcome." Jim didn't know how to respond to that, so he simply nodded and helped Spock run through the final preparations.

Two hours later, with every system on the ship double and triple checked, Jim and Spock beamed back to the resistance base to say goodbye.

"Be careful," Sybok said. "I don't want to be stuck on this rock for any longer than utterly necessary. It rains a lot," he added with distaste, glancing out a window at the rainforest that surrounded the base.

Uhura kissed them both on the cheek, and then punched Jim lightly on the arm. "When you get back, don't think I'll hold back on the insults any more, Kirk." Scotty slung his arm over her shoulders and grinned at her.

"You've been holdin' back?" he asked innocently, and earned himself an icy stare. Sybok stepped forward, lifted Scotty's arm from Nyota's shoulders and placed his own in its place. Scotty laughed.

"Now listen, Spock," McCoy slipped into lecture mode. "Don't let him eat anything weird—I've included a full list of all his allergies I know about, and triple the amount of antihistamines and epinephrine hypos that any normal person would need. Don't let him die cause he got stung by some crazy Vulcan bee or something."

Spock looked offended, and Jim had to fight to keep from laughing. "I assure you, Doctor—" Spock tried to say, but McCoy was already moving on, sticking his finger under Jim's nose and shaking it intimidatingly.

"And you, James Kirk, listen to Spock. Don't do anything stupid, and don't offend the Vulcans."

"Aww, Bones. I knew you cared." Jim flashed him his most sickly-sweet grin, and McCoy rolled his eyes.

"Good luck," Pike said softly, gripping Jim's shoulder. "Leonard's right, Jim. Don't offend the Vulcans—they're the only chance you have to get yourself well." He looked over at Spock. " _You_  don't offend them, either. I know you don't exactly see eye-to-eye with the elders."

"We shall endeavor to remain on our best behavior, I assure you," Spock replied dryly.

"Right," Jim said, rubbing his hands together. "Let's get back to the  _Yeht-gav_. We've got a hell of a long trip ahead of us."


	7. The Trip

Jim felt like he was locked in the world's most monotonous holding pattern. With four weeks of their trip down and five to go, he'd developed a pattern of spending a fair part of each day pacing the ship aimlessly. He'd entirely exhausted his imagination of Things to Do on a Ship With a Limited Library.

It didn't help that most of the reading materials in the computer were diagnostic manuals (or something equally as boring). Besides, the one time he'd downloaded an interesting looking paper on xeno-biological theory, he realized he already knew the information. In fact, he gave himself quite a start when he looked at the byline—apparently he'd written it.

This realization (that there were probably several gigabytes of documents out there about him) had given him about a solid week of looking up information on his past. He fully immersed himself in learning about his family—George Kirk was especially fascinating, though he thought he may have had a bit of different reaction to his father's official records if he had memories about his family to go on.

He felt torn after reading Winona Kirk's records—she apparently had left her children on Earth for long stretches of time while she was deployed on long-range missions. He wondered what kind of mother she had been, if they had been close. Based on the amount of time Starfleet (or her personal choices) kept her off planet, he guessed they probably hadn't been.

There was next to nothing on Sam and his family (apparently the elder Kirk son hadn't shared Jim's penchant for law-breaking). And other than that holo Spock had kept and the knowledge that Sam had apparently settled in the Delta Quadrant, Jim had nothing base his impressions of his brother on. He found this a bit depressing, but tried not to dwell on it.

Documents about his own childhood were both plentiful and colorful. He had apparently been arrested a total of seven times—the earliest for property destruction (one antique Corvette driven off the edge of quarry) at the age of nine. He was slightly amazed that he'd been accepted into Starfleet with that sort of record.

A glance at his test scores made his Starfleet career a little easier to understand. He had been aware in a vague sort of way that he was oddly proficient at every problem he'd been confronted with, both while in captivity and aboard the  _Yeht-gav_ , but his awareness came more sharply into focus now that it was apparent that he held four PhDs ranging from Xenobiology to Twenty-second Century Literature.

Moving past his family, he researched the  _Enterprise_. His history with the ship was fascinating, and he found himself skimming mission logs, occasionally asking Spock to clarify some that were rather vague in their wording. He quickly learned those were the most interesting ones—they were usually missions where he'd bent the rules (or blatantly broken them). He was rather proud that he and the crew of the  _Enterprise_  had (almost) always come out on top. It also became clear why he had an inherent dislike of Klingons—apparently his past relationship with them had been rather contentious.

The fourth day of his research, he came across his biography, which he noted with amusement had apparently been written two years ago as a sort of 'fuck-you' to the Vehsins ruling Earth. The version in the ship's computers was abridged, but Jim doubted very much that he'd ever read the full thing—the book was obviously about two-thirds propaganda, and Spock had gone so far as to roll his eyes when Jim mentioned he was reading it.

It was written by a woman Jim had apparently gone to high school with, and Spock's reaction to her name was that weird sort of backhanded not-quite-an-insult he was so very capable of. It really was quite impressive—insulting someone grievously in such a pleasant and soothing way that it took you half an hour to realize it had been a slight.

And yea, the book was a bit ridiculous. But Jim didn't understand Spock's apparent seething dislike of the author until after much prodding, when he wheedled out of him that she'd also written a rather scandalous 'memoir' about her time as Jim's girlfriend. Spock apparently took this as a personal insult—and since the timeframe the woman referenced meant he would have been cheating on either Spock or her with the other, Jim thought he understood.

But back to the biography—it did highlight a few things of interest. He learned that he'd been a survivor of the Tarsus IV massacre, though of how exactly he'd survived there was no mention. Spock had paled (ever so very slightly, but Jim was fast becoming adept at Spock's muted expressions) when Jim asked him about it, and so Jim had dropped the subject with a sense of unease. If something Spock had only experienced second-hand upset him that badly, he wasn't sure he wanted to know the (apparently gory) details.

Among the other things he found out: he was the youngest captain in the history of Starfleet, had twenty-seven medals attached to his name, had been awarded titles of nobility from fifty-two Earth countries (eleven of them post-humorously) and his home state of Iowa had declared the anniversary of his death a day of mourning. These last bits of information had been more disconcerting than everything else combined.

But he had eventually ran out of information (though he had—rather guiltily—looked up a fair bit of Spock's history as well—and holy  _crap_  was the guy a badass) in the ship's rather limited database, and now was bored again. The ship was running well, they were flying below the radar (not that there was any radar out here to be flying under) and there only so many games of chess and cards that two men could play.

So, Jim was currently attempting to entertain himself by staring out the window at the stars and planets that flashed by (they were traveling at a respectable warp 4, so the scenery changed quite a bit) and fantasizing about getting his life back. Hell, maybe he'd even been to some of these planets that were currently little more than smears of light.

As usual when he was thinking about not much in general, his mind drifted toward Spock, and how their relationship was hovering somewhere between strained and nerve-wracking. And how that was annoying.

They couldn't exactly avoid each other on a ship this size, but they'd been doing an admirable job of not talking about anything actually consequential. Yes, Spock answered his questions (mostly) when Jim asked about bits of his life, but anytime Jim got close to the topic of 'them,' (and by extension of that, sharing memories) Spock froze up.

To make it even more frustrating, Jim was not oblivious. He noticed Spock's hastily-blanked facial expressions from the corner of his eye when he said or did something that reminded the Vulcan of a past experience. And he saw the way Spock looked at him when it was too early for him to fully have his guard up and they accidently bumped into each other in the bathroom.

It was painful when Spock studiously avoided touching, though at least as the trip continued, he was relaxing the stay-at-least-one-foot-from-Jim-at-all-times rule, much to Jim's relief. This forced distance between them was becoming intensely apparent to him, and he was more and more often finding himself unconsciously reaching out—to touch Spock's arm, his hand, his back, anything. It was as if his body was remembering their relationship, and seeking out the comfort Spock should have been providing.

But Spock was so damn  _noble_ , and insisted on separation, and so Jim listened. After what Leonard had told him, how could he not?

They still spent a great deal of time in one another's company, and it wasn't  _all_  awkward. They ate meals together. They stared out at space in silence together. They once spent an entire day during which Spock attempted to re-teach Jim how to play Fizbin and when Jim complained that the rules made no sense, Spock had smirked and told him that Jim had been the one to invent the game.

Finally fed up with doing nothing, (empty space was  _really_  damn boring) Jim gave in and wandered over to Spock's quarters (with the ship entirely on auto-pilot, Spock had set up a remote proximity alert that would sound throughout the whole ship if something odd happened, meaning they spent very little time on the bridge) and knocked on the door.

For a long time, there was no response, and Jim was about to turn away when he heard a soft "Enter." He thumbed the open button, and the door slid back, revealing Spock watching him from a mat on the ground. The air smelled like a desert after a dust storm, and Jim realized the scent was coming from a smoldering incense stick burning away in the corner.

"Hey," he said, suddenly feeling awkward. "Am I interrupting?"

"Not particularly. Come in, Jim." Spock responded, rising to his feet in one smooth movement. Jim noticed (appreciatively) that he was wearing a long black robe that emphasized his lean body, and when he stepped past the threshold, he realized that Spock's quarters were still slightly warmer than the rest of the ship, though it was much cooler than the last time he'd been in here.

"What're you doing?" he asked, poking around the small room and finally settling in Spock's desk chair.

"I was meditating," Spock responded while rolling up the mat on which he'd been seated. "While it does not provide me the same level of control as it used to, the practice remains constructive. Of late, it has been extremely useful in regulating my mental state."

"Yea," Jim agreed. "It helped me, I think. Helps."

"It is a useful tool," Spock repeated, and they lapsed into a stilted silence. Spock sat on his bed, and Jim nervously avoided his eyes. The fleeting thought that he shouldn't have come into Spock's room crossed his mind.

While Jim couldn't speak for Spock on the matter,  _he_ certainly had his own reasons for not attempting to engage in meaningful heart-to-hearts. He'd been dwelling on what Leonard had told him about how he and Spock had been about to get married, (god, he couldn't even  _think_ about it without blushing) and he would bet money that Spock's reticence was caused by similar (if not identical) thoughts. But he was sick of elephant in the room, and figuring that the atmosphere on the ship couldn't possibly become more uncomfortable, Jim decided to go for it.

"So I have a question for you."

"Anything, Jim." Spock said, settling his robes around himself.

"Bones—I mean, Leonard. Ugh. Whatever." Jim shook his head, annoyed with his stammering. He tried again. "Leonard was talking to me when we were on Earth, and he told me that. Um. He told me that we were gonna get married. Er, bonded, I mean. Is that…?" he fell silent and blushed.

There was no response from Spock, and after several intensely awkward seconds, Jim looked up. Spock was staring at the ground.

"Spock?"

The Vulcan glanced up and took a breath. "Doctor McCoy's statement is accurate. We were en route to New Vulcan to be bonded."

Jim slumped in the chair slightly. "Jesus, Spock. Why didn't you tell me that?" he said, and ran his hand over his face. "I mean, I knew we were together before, but I didn't realize it was that serious. I mean, hell, I woulda been a little less… uh. Insistent. About getting in your pants. I'd at least have had more tact."

Spock shook his head, and to Jim's amazement, he smiled slightly. "You are always insistent when you desire something. Often quite frustratingly so."

Jim smiled in return and leaned back in Spock's chair, slightly more comfortable. "Would you tell me about how we got together? I mean, hopefully I'll remember for myself in a couple weeks, but y'know. To pass the time."

Spock sighed. "I do not wish to force—"

"You're  _not_. How many times do I have to tell you?" Jim snapped, sitting forward, suddenly extremely annoyed. "I'm learning everything else about my past, but nothing about us. And apparently, you were everything!" He threw his arms in the air, huffing, then took a deep breath and leaned back again, continued more softly. "I need to know, Spock. I get that it's hard for you, but I deserve to  _know_."

Spock was silent for another moment, and then shook his head slightly before saying, "Yes. You do deserve this. I apologize for being unwilling to discuss the topic."

"I get it," Jim said again. "But thank you."

Spock appeared to think for a moment, then tilted his head and (to Jim's amusement) the tips of his ears darkened slightly. "Our initial amorous encounter is not a particularly romantic story."

"Hell, I don't care. Are we particularly romantic people?" Jim asked, hiding his smile behind his hand, extremely pleased that they were finally talking about this.

"When we first began relations, we were the captain and first officer of a large starship. There was little time for traditional romance," Spock admitted.

"So tell me what happened," Jim prodded, and Spock shook his head good-naturedly.

"Very well," he said finally. "Though do not hold this accounting against me if it does not correspond exactly with your memories when they are freed." Jim smiled—this was the first time Spock hadn't qualified that statement with an 'if.'

"We were on a diplomatic mission—negotiations regarding trade rights between the Federation and the ub'GX'nites. The ambassador's third wife showed inappropriate interest in your person, and as a result, the he called for a local tradition of a battle for the affections of the wife."

"A fight for the hand of the lady?" Jim interrupted. "How manly…"

Spock raised an eyebrow and continued. "The ub'GX'nites are approximately ten feet tall and heavily muscled, and the battle would have been hand-to-hand, without the use of weapons. The likelihood of your survival of such a confrontation was two hundred and forty six to one."

"Well, shit."

Spock went on as if Jim hadn't once again interrupted the flow of his story. "As such, I determined to step in and fight in your stead."

"You what?" Jim sighed and shook his head. Spock certainly had a history of taking physical punishment in his place.

"I am physically more capable in confrontations of this nature," Spock explained, and there was a hint of exasperation on the edge of his voice. "By replacing you in the battle, I raised the probability of success to close to fifty percent."

"What were the exact odds?" Jim asked, knowing that there was no way it was actually close to fifty percent.

Spock hesitated. "…I had a thirty four point eight percent chance of besting the ambassador in physical conflict."

"That's not fifty percent," Jim commented.

"…I rounded," Spock mumbled, then said, "By this point, I had accepted the nature of my feelings for you and did not wish to see you hurt. It was the best option."

Jim laughed. "So you quoted some half-assed numbers at me to let you be my champion? I bet that didn't fly."

"It did not," Spock admitted. "So I incapacitated you and had you beamed back aboard the  _Enterprise._ " Jim raised both eyebrows at him, but remained silent. Spock fidgeted slightly. "You were displeased."

"I bet," Jim said, and laughed softly. "What'd I do?"

"Once you regained consciousness, you immediately returned to the planet. You arrived in time to witness the fight begin, and by that time, ub'GX'nite tradition dictates that it cannot be stopped."

Spock shifted on the bed and leaned back. "I… was unsuccessful in besting the ambassador, and as he made to deliver the killing blow, you initiated an emergency transport to remove me to the ship. I was severely injured, and you brought me to the sickbay, where Doctor McCoy tended to my wounds."

"…And I sat by your bedside, pining, waiting for you to wake up?"

Spock smirked. "On the contrary. You beamed back to the planet and continued negotiations, as once the tournament was completed, their laws dictated that all grievances must be put aside. Apparently your brashness impressed the ambassador, and the negotiations were successful. And Doctor McCoy informed me, upon my waking, that you were furious with me."

"I can see why I would be."

"Indeed. After the negotiations were completed, you returned to the ship but did not come to the medical bay. Eventually, I was released to my quarters, though I continued to fear that I had passed some boundary and lost your friendship, based on your obvious displeasure. However, shortly after I returned to my quarters, you arrived, overrode my lock codes and proceeded to verbally reprimand me for placing myself in danger of bodily harm."

"Verbally reprimanded?"

"You yelled. Loudly and at great length." Spock clarified. "And then you informed me that you were worried about my person, and that I should not willingly put myself in danger for you. I responded that I would always choose my injuries over yours, and… and then you kissed me."

"Ooh, first time angry sex? Hot."

Spock shifted again. "Indeed."

('')

Jim was reclining in Spock's chair on the bridge (three days after he and Spock finally started really talking) when the proximity alert sounded. Jim jumped, dropping the PADD he'd been reading, and bounded to the nav console to see what was going on. Behind him, the door swished open and Spock strode onto the bridge.

"Report?"

"It's a Klingon Bird-of-Prey," Jim said. "Starboard side." He eyed the readouts. "There's something wrong with the ship, I think…" he mumbled, but then a light flashed under his fingers. “They're hailing us."

"Out of sight," Spock directed, and Jim complied without a complaint, sliding to the far side of the bridge where he could watch and not be seen. Based on his previous research, this was probably a good call. He and Klingons weren't exactly buddies.

Spock adopted his most haughty affectation and put the hail through to the view screen.

A female Klingon appeared on the screen. "Vulcan ship, what is your business here?" she demanded.

"I am delivering supplies." Spock answered. Short and to the point—he didn't want to drag this confrontation out.

The commander furrowed her brow. "You are flying alone? Where is your crew?"

"My first officer is unavailable," Spock not-precisely-lied. "I am capable of piloting my ship alone. May I help you with something?"

The Klingon flashed a dangerous grin. "What is your heading, Vulcan?"

Spock narrowed his eyes. "That is none of your concern."

There was silence for a moment, and then the Klingon dropped her bomb. "I like your ship. I think perhaps I should take it."

"You have your own ship," Spock said calmly. "And we fight against a common enemy. It is illogical to wish harm upon me."

"The Vehsins do not rule here," the woman snapped. "And no harm would come to you if you surrendered like the coward you are."

"I will not surrender without a fight. Are you aware of to whom you are speaking, Klingon?" Spock said, his voice frighteningly quiet.

"I speak to a Vulcan coward," the commander sneered. "I do not need to know any more."

"Very well," Spock said clearly, straightening his back. "Is it not more honorable to fight hand to hand, rather than firing upon a ship that you clearly outgun?"

The Klingon narrowed her eyes. "It is," she allowed. From the other side of the bridge, Jim made a face and shook his head. Spock ignored him.

"Then I suggest a fight. If you win, you get my ship. If I win, you let us go."

The woman shot him a grin. "Agreed. I will beam aboard your ship at 1300 hours. Prepare yourself for death." Spock did not respond—merely reached out and flicked off the view screen. After a moment, he leaned back and sighed softly.

"Spock?" Jim ventured, and after a minute of not receiving a reply, he continued. "This is a bad idea. You're gonna  _fight_  a Klingon? Also, don't think I don't notice you getting into unnecessary confrontations just about, oh, all the time."

Spock glanced at him. "This is the best option. We cannot outrun her, and we are outgunned. As I have previously informed you, my skills in battle are exceptional, and my strength and agility are superior to hers. I have an eighty-four percent chance of success, provided she fights fairly. We have ten minutes until she beams over. I must prepare."

Jim narrowed his eyes and gave him a Look.

('')

"Well, that went well," Jim said cheerfully, and Spock groaned, despite the light sedative Jim had already administered.

"I will admit…"

"No more talking," Jim ordered, and then added, "This is going to hurt. Brace yourself." He knelt over Spock in the tiny medical bay, fit his knee against Spock's side, and tugged sharply on his shoulder.

There was a moment of straining nothing, and then with a dull pop, Spock's shoulder slipped back into its socket. Spock grunted, but the dazed look in his eyes retreated somewhat.

"Thank you, Jim," he mumbled. "Now perhaps we may address my leg?"

"She broke your fibula," Jim commented.

"It is fortunate, then, that that bone does not bear any weight," Spock responded, his words icy. "And I would prefer to forgo another lecture."

"Let me rephrase," Jim said, bending over Spock's leg to assess the damage. "She grabbed your leg and tried to  _tear out_  your fibula. And if I hadn't shot her with my _phaser_ , she probably would've torn your damn leg off."

"You are channeling Doctor McCoy," Spock groused.

"And all this because you were so wrapped up in kicking the shit out of some random Klingon that you didn't think to  _scan_  her ship to see if she actually had any way to back up what she was threatening…" Jim pressed a hypo to Spock's upper leg, increasing the numbing so he could fix the compound fracture.

"Had she fired on us, we would have been destroyed."

"But she wasn't gonna fire on us, cause she wanted the ship," Jim countered, and carefully cut away the ragged skin to get to the bone.

"The chances—"

"The  _chances_ , Spock, that one Klingon in a broken, out of gas bird-of-prey that  _couldn't even fire_  her photon torpedoes, could take over your fully-functioning ship is next to nothing. And don't even try to quote statistics at me right now, Mister 'eighty-four percent chance if she fights fair'." Jim punctuated his sentence by clicking Spock's bone back into place. Despite the numbing agent, Spock grunted.

"And I still say we shoulda let her drift," Jim mumbled. "But no. You beamed her unconscious ass back to her ship along with some  _food_ , cause it makes sense to feed people who want to kill you."

"Sarcasm, Jim, is not—"

"And I was looking forward to eating those apples, dammit!" Jim snapped, and ran the dermal regenerator over Spock's shin. "Giving a fucking Klingon fresh fucking apples… crazy goddamn Vulcan…"

"Jim."

"Nope! I don't wanna hear it, Spock! Now, are you gonna do your healing trance thing or do I need to hypo you to sleep? I'm sure I could channel Bones a little bit more…"

"I will meditate."

"Excellent. I'm gonna go eat an orange before you give them away to a passing Romulan."

('')

Spock emerged from his healing trance three days later to find Jim peeling an orange and watching him warily. Spock sat up and glanced around—Jim had apparently transferred him to his quarters.

"That bed in the medbay's pretty uncomfortable," Jim explained, noticing Spock's slightly confused look. "I figured you'd be happier here."

"Thank you," Spock said softly, and Jim smiled.

"You're ridiculously heavy, you know."

"On the contrary; Leonard has repeatedly informed me that I am underweight," Spock murmured, and shot Jim a small, somewhat teasing smile. Jim grinned back and shoved Spock's shoulder.

"Don't be an ass," Jim said, laughing, and rummaged for a moment before handing Spock half the orange on a plate with a fork and ordering him to eat. Spock did, slowly peeling apart the wedges as Jim filled him in on the (entirely uneventful) past seventy hours.

"How's your leg?" Jim finished, and Spock sighed. He pulled off his blankets (Jim had apparently dressed him in sleeping pants, he noted) and inspected the rough splint Jim had wrapped around his shin.

"It remains broken, though my skin has healed. We will need to place it in a more permanent cast if I am to be of any use for the remainder of the trip. I should be able to heal entirely within ten more days. It is a rather bad break."

Jim snorted. "Understatement of the century." He regarded Spock for a moment, looking thoughtful, then said, "I'm pretty sure I can handle setting a cast. Finish that and we'll go back to medical." Spock popped the last wedge of orange in his mouth and Jim helped him up. Together, they hobbled back to the medbay.

It turned out that casting was more difficult than Jim had imagined, and it took three tries before they were able to get a brace that would be able to handle Spock's weight. Spock bore the process stoically (with the odd wince when one of them jostled the fracture) and was surprised when he learned that Jim could apparently swear in Standard, English, Russian, Japanese, Klingon, Romulan, Orion, and Andorian—all of which he used liberally when struggling with the plaster.

At last count, Spock had only known him to be able to swear in Standard, English, and Russian. Apparently he'd picked up a few more languages in the time they'd been separated—Nyota would be proud. He smiled to himself, and Jim gave him a suspicious look.

Finally, two hours later, Spock was able to limp to the mess on his own volition. He slid into his usual seat and Jim plopped down on the bench across from him and sighed.

"Let's hope we don't run into any more Klingons," he said, and Spock nodded in agreement. Jim fidgeted for a moment, then stood and poked at the replicator, finally returning with tea for Spock and a coffee for himself, as well as two PADDs. Spock watched him as he slowly stirred in a small spoonful of sugar, then picked up his PADD to read a paper Sulu had sent him several weeks ago but he had forgotten about until now.

He was startled out of descriptions of the medical uses of various types of Andorian flora by Jim slamming his own PADD down on the table. Their cups rattled, and a small amount of tea spilled onto the table.

"You can't do this shit, Spock."

Spock was confused. "Do…"

"You can't just up and put yourself in life-threatening danger cause you feel like it. There's better ways around confrontations than fighting Klingons in hand-to-hand combat!"

Spock raised an eyebrow and carefully placed his PADD to the side before wiping up the spilled tea with a nearby napkin. "I felt that my actions were the best course that I—"

Jim raised a hand to stop him, and Spock fell silent. Jim had the stony look Spock had always associated with the captain's complete and utter fury, and Spock realized with a jolt that he hadn't seen it on Jim's face since they were reunited. He was not thrilled that he had been the one to give that look back to Jim.

"You coulda died, and then I'd be alone," Jim grated out. His hands were clenched tightly, and he was shaking ever so slightly.

Spock was taken aback at the intense reaction Jim was experiencing. "…The ship is on autopilot. It would take you to the Vulcan colony. Once finished with your healing, you would be sent back to Earth. You would not remain alone," Spock countered slowly.

"That's not what I meant, and you know it," Jim spat, and then seemed to deflate. His hands dropped to his sides, and he tugged on his sweater. Finally, he sighed and leaned forward, catching Spock's hands unexpectedly and pulling them toward his chest.

"How did you do it?" Jim asked. "How did you deal with losing everyone, cause even the  _thought_  of you dying makes me, I duno, flail around in a panic." He fixed Spock in an unwavering gaze, and Spock did his best to return it.

He'd successfully avoided this topic so far, but Jim deserved to know.

There was silence, then Spock sighed. He did not attempt to extricate his hands from Jim's grasp. "I attempted to continue my existence without dwelling on my losses. I commanded the  _Enterprise_  for six months after… after your supposed death, at which point it was destroyed in a battle above Earth. I spent precisely two weeks, three days, and nineteen hours on Earth, during which I lost track of the number of invading Vehsins I killed.

"I remained as busy as possible and did not allow myself time to stop and think. And then I was captured and placed in a Vehsin reprogramming facility, and at that point I… lost control of my mental facilities."

Jim, who had been listening to Spock's speech with a pensive look, blanched. Spock noticed, but Jim needed to know this information, so he continued. Perhaps if he allowed Jim this small insight into how… ( _broken, destroyed, ruined_ , his brain supplied) flawed… he was, he would begin to understand his reticence.

"In the prison, I was left to my own devices. I spent two months in a cell, first with a fellow prisoner, later with his corpse. Initially, I attempted to work on hypothetical mathematical postulations, to mentally review articles I had found interesting—anything to keep myself from thinking. Eventually, I failed in distracting myself and was forced to accept that with your death, I had lost every being that had truly mattered to me."

Spock went on, forcing himself to speak the next words. "At the end of the two months, I came to the conclusion—based on discussions with fellow prisoners—that I would soon be subjugated to torture in an effort to wean information about the rebellion. I knew a great deal of sensitive material, and the worry—that under extreme duress—I would divulge this information, coupled with the pain of your loss… I engaged in… I believed…"

He took a breath and dropped his gaze from Jim's confused look. "I attempted suicide." He felt Jim's fingers tighten on his, and glanced up in time to see Jim's eyes flick to Spock's lower arms. He knew then that he'd seen the scars but had been too polite to ask. "The Vehsins were loathe to allow me this method of escape, and revived me. At that point, I was assigned guards and the reprogramming began in earnest." His eyes hardened slightly. "I did not ever divulge the information I was privy to."

They sat in silence for a moment, Spock unwillingly lost in his memories of that painful time, Jim lightly running soothing circles into the back of Spock's hands. Spock caught the pointed thought through their touch that Jim knew what he was doing was highly intimate, and did not care. Spock found that he didn't care, either.

"I was, of course, eventually released, and fell into the care of Admiral Pike," Spock continued after he had collected himself. He started speaking quickly now, wanting this conversation to be over.

"I initially refused sustenance after my release, as I selfishly continued to have the desire to cease my existence. However, Pike goaded me into healing, and berated me for dishonoring both my mother's and your memory by surrendering to the Vehsin machine. So, to answer your query, Jim, I did not 'deal'. I am alive because of the actions of others and guilt on my part. I accepted command of this ship because I had no idea what else to do with my life. It is not the sort of life I ever imagined for myself, but it is a life, nonetheless.

"Over the time that has elapsed since I have been aboard the  _Yeht-gav_ , I admit to contentment becoming the more prevalent emotion. I protect my crew fiercely, which I believe was Admiral Pike's intention when suggesting I gather one—I am less likely toward self-destructive behavior when others depend on me."

"You were being awfully self-destructive with that Klingon," Jim muttered darkly, his first contribution to the conversation in many minutes.

"I am not perfect," Spock muttered.

"I'm not asking for you to be," Jim snapped, his eyes suddenly blazing. "But I'm  _here_  now, and I want you to stick around, too. We just found each other again, Spock. You don't wanna throw that away, do you?" he asked, a trace of desperation tingeing his words.

"No," Spock said, and consciously realized that for the first time in years, he wanted to see what came next.

('')

"Y'know, there is absolutely  _nothing_  out here," Jim suddenly said, and Spock caught a hint of panic on the edge of his voice. "We've still got a week left of this trip, and it looks like we're flying into black nothingness. I mean shit, there's hardly even any  _stars_ , let alone systems…"

Spock glanced at him and willed his own unease to settle. He'd never been this close to the edge of this spiral of their galaxy—and as far as he knew, neither had any Starfleet or Federation representatives. However, he doubted that the remaining Vulcans would have been paranoid and illogical enough to have sent them to their deaths in black nothingness.

He peered out the window of the common area again—they were sitting pressed together on the single (rather ratty) couch. It was cold on the ship (fuel conservation meant lower thermostats—Spock had even turned down the heat in his own quarters again) and Spock told himself that he didn't feel even slightly guilty about using body heat to keep warm.

Besides, since his revelations to Jim several days ago, they had spent every waking moment together, and their relationship was transitioning closer to what it had been before the war. Spock found that this was entirely acceptable.

"The Vulcans have become highly distrustful of all outsiders," he told Jim. "It is not surprising that they would attempt to hide as far away as possible. When I was released from incarceration, there were only perhaps five hundred of my species remaining."

"Jesus, Spock…" Jim started, and Spock inwardly rankled at the pity in his tone.

"I have resigned myself to my species' fate," he said (more sharply than he'd intended). "And after Nero, our existence was already threatened. The Vehsins merely… sped up the process."

"That doesn't mean you can't mourn your people…"

"My people, as you put it, have made several exceedingly terrible choices." Spock was speaking without thinking—he had no idea why he was saying these things to Jim, who was looking increasingly surprised.

"They maintained neutrality when the Vehsins attacked, and were nearly destroyed for it. They ignored the fact that Vulcans who  _did_  fight against the Vehsins were imprisoned, tortured, and murdered. They had previously exiled my brother and then refused him sanctuary, resulting in his arrest and near execution. They sent my father to his death in what was an obvious trap. They abandoned me."

He stopped speaking, breathing heavily, and jumped slightly when Jim pulled him into a hug.

"I didn't know, Spock."

"I did not tell you," Spock said after a long silence. "There was no possible way you could have known these facts."

Jim pulled back and looked Spock in the eye. "But you're still willing to ask them for help?"

“There is little I would not do if I thought it would help you," Spock said softly, and Jim's eyes crinkled with a look Spock could not read. He suddenly realized how very close they were actually sitting to one another, and he shifted back, making a show of stretching his newly de-casted leg.

"I apologize for the emotional outburst…" he muttered, and Jim's mouth twitched in a hastily-hidden smile.

"You're always apologizing for your emotions," he said, the note of amusement badly concealed. "You don't have to."

"…I am exceptionally emotional around you," Spock admitted. "You are consistently able to pull these reactions from me."

Jim smiled at him and scooted closer, claiming he was cold when Spock raised an eyebrow. They settled together for a moment, and then Jim asked—so quietly that Spock barely heard him—"Have you thought about what we'll do if the mind-healers can't fix me?"

"You will be healed," Spock answered firmly. "Your mind will be open to you."

"But what if they can't?" Jim sounded slightly lost and worried. Unable to quell the desire to comfort him, Spock shifted even closer. He considered his next words.

"If they cannot… then we will continue as we have been. We will fight the Vehsins. We will return to Earth and collect the crew, and we will accept the trials we are forced to undergo."

Jim looked at him, his eyes round. "What about us?"

Spock gazed back at him, unsure of what to say. "We…" Their bodies were pressed together, Jim a warm presence and solid along his side, and he abruptly decided that there was no way he could deny himself any longer. Memories or not, this was _Jim_. He swallowed. "I will never leave you. Never again."

Jim wet his lips and leaned in slightly. "I'm gonna kiss you, ok?" he said softly.

Spock nodded.

Jim leaned in the rest of the way and brushed his lips gently against Spock's, then reached down and caught Spock's hand in his. He threaded their fingers together for a moment, drawing their hands up to chest level, then stroked Spock's palm with his first and second fingers.

Spock gasped softly and pressed both his hand and mouth toward their points of contact. He simply couldn't restrain himself anymore—Jim was getting more… Jim-like… every day, and Spock was helpless against the turmoil he was feeling.

He just wanted to touch him, so he slid his free hand around Jim's waist, pulling him closer. They kissed unhurriedly for long minutes, (Spock receiving gentle thrums of

_/desire need this so perfect wonderful/_

though their contact) until Jim pressed Spock backward slightly. Spock allowed himself to be pushed over, and landed on his back on the couch with Jim half-lying on top of him.

"I…," Jim breathed, pulling back slightly to look at Spock, not stopping the gentle movement of his hand. "…You're letting me kiss you, I was dying not kissing you…" he buried his head in the Vulcan's neck, and Spock more felt his next words than heard them: "If I love you this much now, I can't imagine what it'll be like when I get my memories back."

Spock closed his eyes to ground himself (nearly overcome) and then gently touched Jim's hair (so ridiculous, he desperately needed to cut it) and got his attention. Jim looked up and Spock captured his mouth again, willfully lowering his mental shields and letting his feelings of happiness seep into the other man.

An hour later, they were still lying on the couch, pressing as close as their clothing would allow. Jim was tracing his fingers along Spock's collarbone, and Spock was rubbing soothing circles into Jim's scalp.

"Let me sleep with you tonight," Jim said suddenly. Spock blinked at him, and Jim smiled slightly. "Just sleep. I want to be close to you."

"Yes," Spock said simply.

('')

At 0517, both men were jerked awake by the proximity alarm. Spock rolled out of bed, rapidly pulled on his boots (not bothering to grab a shirt or change out of his sleeping pants) and bolted for the bridge. Jim followed him perhaps forty-five seconds later (he took the time to put on both his boots and a shirt, and scooped up one for Spock as well).

Spock was standing over the nav console when Jim joined him on the bridge, staring with a furrowed brow at a small ship that was keeping pace slightly to the front port side of the  _Yeht-gav_. Jim handed Spock the shirt, and he shrugged it on without comment.

A light flashed, and Jim automatically said, "Hailing us," though Spock had seen the alert. He reached out and keyed in the necessary commands and the view screen whirred to life. A familiar face appeared on the view screen, and Spock's lip curled unconsciously.

"Stonn…"

"Greetings, Spock."


	8. Vulcans

Spock slowly became aware that he was showing open animosity, though Stonn was not as reserved as he could have been, either. His eyes were narrowed slightly, and Spock could tell that Stonn wasn't exactly thrilled to out here.

"So…" Jim started to say, and Spock jerked himself out of his inappropriate reaction.

"Stonn," he said again, ignoring Jim. "I assume you have been sent to meet us?"

"Indeed," Stonn replied icily. "The high counsel has determined that your ship will not be permitted to journey the final distance to the prearranged coordinates. There is too much of a risk that your transmissions may have been intercepted. There is a small moon here…" he pressed a few buttons out of sight of the view screen, and a moment later, the  _Yeht-gav_ 's nav console lit up, coordinates received.

"You will land your ship and beam aboard mine. I will escort you for the remainder of the trip."

"Seriously?" Jim grumbled, and Spock made a soft noise of agreement.

"If you would prefer to not adhere to the stipulations and return to Earth, that is also an acceptable course of action," Stonn replied flatly.

Spock shook his head slightly. "We will respect the wishes of the counsel," he said, and swiftly adjusted their direction.

"Very well," Stonn responded. "Contact me when you have landed and I will beam you aboard."

Spock flicked off the view screen without another word. He was silent for a moment before glancing at Jim. "The elders have become overly paranoid. I apologize that I can think of no other option to this dilemma."

"Well, we're already out here," Jim said, shrugging. "So we land the ship and have to travel for a couple days with that jerk. What's the deal with that, anyway? You two don't get along? ‘Cause even I noticed that conversation was a little strained."

Spock did not have the time (nor the inclination) to explain their past unpleasant dealings with Stonn and T'Pring. It was a disagreeable story and Spock selfishly did not want to be the one to inform Jim of yet  _another_  time when he had lost control of himself. It had been bad enough when Jim had asked about the story of how he had come to captain the  _Enterprise._ Jim's face when Spock recounted the events of Delta Vega and then the confrontation on the bridge had been immeasurably unpleasant.

However, he could not remain entirely silent on the matter. So, "That is an understatement," Spock told him. "We have dealt with Stonn before. It is… a long story, for another time, but suffice it to say that before you and I became involved, Stonn and…" Spock hesitated, but continued after a moment. "…and my betrothed… orchestrated a plan that would rid me from their lives in a rather violent manner."

Jim stared at him. "That dude tried to kill you? And  _what_  about a betrothed?"

Spock sighed. "As I said, it is a long story, and complicated, due to its subject matter. Now is not the time, and hopefully you will remember for yourself in a few days time. I would rather not discuss it further."

"…All right…" Jim said slowly, but Spock could see that he was filing this away for a conversation to be had at a later time.

By this point, they were nearing the moon Stonn had directed them toward, and Spock started the landing sequence. Twenty minutes later, they were beamed aboard Stonn's ship (along with a bag each and five crates of supplies for the colony). Spock let out a quiet breath of relief when the heat from the ship washed over them. At least not having to use the  _Yeht-gav_ 's fuel for a few extra days would help with fuel consumption. Perhaps they could turn the heat up on the way back.

Stonn appeared a few moments later and stood calmly while they looked around—Jim with interest, Spock with mild distrust.

"May I inquire to the length of the remaining duration of our trip?" Spock asked him. "I assume the original coordinates uploaded to my ship are no longer applicable."

"You assume correctly," Stonn replied coolly. "We have a fifty-three point nine hour journey from this location." He turned to Jim and raised his hand in the ta'al. "Greetings, Captain."

"Spock's the captain, Mister Stonn," Jim said with an easy smile. "I'm just along for the ride."

Stonn raised an eyebrow, and Spock measured his reaction blankly. "Are you aware of our business to the colony?" he asked Stonn, who shook his head.

"I was simply instructed to intercept you. Your business does not concern me," Stonn said slowly.

"Very well," Spock replied curtly. If Stonn wanted gossip about his passengers, he wasn't going to get anything from him. "Will we be allowed to move about the ship or will we be confined to our quarters?"

Stonn blinked. "You are not prisoners. You have free rein of the ship, though I will show you to your rooms now."

Spock made a purposefully condescending 'go ahead' gesture. Stonn breathed sharply through his nose, (possibly a sign of annoyance?) turned, and led them down a narrow hallway. He paused in front of a wide door and palmed it open.

"This is the mess. The replicators are programmed for Vulcan fare." He continued down the corridor without letting them linger, and a moment later gestured to two doors set next to one another along the hallway. "These will be your rooms. T'Pau has requested you be rested upon your arrival."

Spock opened one of the doors and glanced in. "Thank you. However, we only need to utilize one room."

Stonn again raised an eyebrow but nodded. "Very well. I will be on the bridge if you require my assistance." He turned and practically stalked off.

"Chatty fellow," Jim remarked, following Spock into the room. Spock did his odd, one-shouldered shrug.

"It is of no consequence. It is unlikely we will be forced to interact with him for any length of time." He carefully placed his bag in a corner and removed his jacket—it seemed that the entire ship was heated to a comfortable 305°K. Spock glanced at Jim and noticed he was already sweating.

"I will adjust the temperature controls," Spock stated, walking to the thermostat in the corner. Jim looked relieved, and Spock lowered the temperature by eight degrees—a compromise for both of them.

Jim sighed slightly and peeled off his shirt and sweater, ( _distracting,_ thought Spock) mumbling something that got lost in the fabric. When he emerged, Spock raised an eyebrow and asked him to repeat himself.

"Sorry," Jim smiled. "I said, would you mind if we meditate? I wanna get as… centered, I guess… as I can before I meet with your elders."

Spock was vaguely surprised—Jim hadn't asked to meditate with him since he had originally instructed him in the technique. "Of course," he said, then rummaged in a cabinet for the mats that were doubtlessly hidden in the room. Jim found some incense and lit it, immediately visibly relaxing when the scent of dust and spices hit his nose.

They settled down facing one another, legs crossed, the incense between them, and Spock closed his eyes. He started sinking into the familiar patterns of his mind, but was interrupted when Jim quietly cleared his throat. Brown eyes flicked open to meet blue, and Spock raised an eyebrow when Jim gave him an apologetic smile.

"Can you talk me through it?" he asked, and Spock blinked.

"…Yes. Do you need…"

Jim's smile widened. "I don't  _need_  anything, but I want to hear your voice." He reached out and laced his fingers with Spock's. "You help me focus," he finished.

Spock rather thought that holding hands with Jim while meditating would be less than advantageous to attaining a deep calm, but at this moment he didn't particularly care. So he simply checked to make sure his mental barriers we firmly in place and allowed their hands to remain joined. He closed his eyes again, and this time he knew that Jim had followed suit.

"Breathe in, and out," Spock intoned softly, and he heard Jim's responding breaths. "Open your thoughts. There is nothing that requires your attention with the exception of your breath…" They sank into their mediation trance together, Spock's gentle voice leading them, and Jim willingly following.

('')

Spock woke two mornings later feeling more relaxed than he had in years. It took him a moment to piece the reason together—helped greatly by the fact that there was a warm body pressed to his side and that for once, he wasn't cold. The past days had been immensely calming, even with the occasional stilted conversation with Stonn. He couldn't remember the last time he had merely been a passenger aboard a ship, and was enjoying having no responsibilities.

He rolled over and slid his hand through Jim's hair, pressed a gentle kiss to his temple. Jim grumbled incoherently and tightened his grip around Spock's waist.

"Jim, it is time to wake," Spock whispered half-heartedly.

Jim simply burrowed further into the blankets. Spock shook his head good-naturedly, then gently pried Jim's arms from his waist and slid out of bed. Jim rolled into the heat he had left behind and for a moment, Spock considered climbing back in, taking him in his arms, kissing him awake…

But they were due to arrive at the colony within three hours, and Spock wanted to speak to Stonn. So instead of crawling back into bed, he changed out of his sleeping clothes and into his pair of worn slacks and jacket. He spared a glance at Jim (who was now curled in the middle of the bed, again fast asleep) and went to find Stonn.

Surprisingly, Spock found him in the mess hall rather than on the bridge. They greeted one another with nods, and Spock replicated a bowl of Vulcan fruits for himself before going to sit with the other man. Stonn regarded him warily when he sat across from him.

"I wished to discuss the nature of the Vulcan colony," Spock said by way of starting the conversation, and Stonn nodded.

"I cannot release certain details, but I am willing to answer what questions I am able."

Spock considered for a moment before asking, "What is the population of the colony?" Stonn was quiet, and Spock raised an eyebrow. "Surely this information is not classified?" he asked, and Stonn shook his head.

"No. However, the subject is a difficult one. We number at two hundred thirty one—ninety seven females to one hundred thirty four males." His voice was quiet, and Spock felt a sinking in his stomach. Stonn continued—"T'Pau, Selow, and your elder counterpart are the only remaining elders. There have been no births, and we have lost several to the  _plak tow_."

Spock leaned forward. "No births?"

"There is no medical explanation," Stonn replied dully. T'Pau believes our females have unconsciously accepted the inevitability of our extinction."

Spock felt vaguely sick. No births meant just that—the Vulcan race would soon be wiped out of the universe. "And yourself? And… T'Pring?"

Stonn was quiet again for a long time, and Spock let out a shaky breath. Despite what trials they had put him through, they were two of his oldest acquaintances. He found himself wishing that T'Pring had simply been forced to bond with another—it was far preferable to the alternative.

"My beloved did not survive reprogramming," Stonn muttered. "It is likely I will not successfully endure my  _Pon Farr_."

"Is there no one for you to bond with?" Spock asked, somewhat incredulously, and pushed the sharp pain of T'Pring's death far to the back of his mind. Stonn looked mildly affronted at the obvious emotions tingeing his voice.

"There is no compatible mind for me among the remaining unbonded colonists," he admitted, and shook his head. "There are twenty-five unbonded males within the colony. We are hoping that when each of our time comes, we will…" he trailed off for a moment, his eyes on his bowl of fruit. "Keep our dignity," he finished quietly.

Spock picked at his own fruit. "I…I mourn with thee, Stonn. But I must ask—why do you stay? Logically, you would have a higher chance of survival if you were to leave your self-imposed prisons. It is… entirely illogical to willingly drive our species into extinction."

Stonn straightened his back, and his eyes, when they met Spock's, were hard. "You understand loss, Spock. I have reached the point where I no longer wish to experience it."

"Suicide is a highly emotional response to misery," Spock countered, and a hint of a grimace flitted across Stonn's features. Spock rather thought that if Stonn were one of the humans he was now so used to dealing with, he might have had to dodge a punch to the jaw.

"Perhaps it is for the best," Stonn replied icily, and Spock shook his head in defeat. He switched topics.

"I take it that you have not chosen to reside on a planet."

Stonn deflated slightly, his gratitude for the change of topic apparent. "No. We have settled aboard a starship. Our food and fuel stores will outlast all colonists' life spans."

"Provided, of course, birth rates remain at zero." Spock clarified.

"Yes, though the probability of that aspect of life changing is negligible."

Spock sighed (Stonn almost looked scandalized) and stood. "I must prepare for our arrival. Is there anything we will be required to do upon docking?"

"No," Stonn replied, now staring again at his fruit. "T'Pau, Selow, and the elder Spock will meet you. I have already sent the message informing them of our arrival."

"Thank you," Spock said softly. Stonn did not respond, simply speared a small piece of  _pla-savas_  and contemplated it. Spock moved to the replicator and ordered a bowl of an oatmeal-type mush for Jim before heading to the door, but once there, he hesitated.

"Stonn," he said, and the other Vulcan looked up, his eyes dark, though with what, Spock could only guess. "I hold no resentment toward you," he said, and Stonn raised an eyebrow.

"I find that difficult to accept," he said in response, and Spock shook his head.

"What grievances we may have held before are of no consequence now. I do not wish…" Spock hesitated. "I do not wish you to die helplessly. There must be another option."

Stonn looked back down at his fruit. "It is the way of things."

Spock pressed his lips into a thin line—he was torn between annoyance and pity, though he did not think his fellow Vulcan would appreciate seeing either of those emotions on his face.

"Think on my words," he ordered, and Stonn half-shrugged. Spock thought that Stonn was behaving entirely like a petulant teenager, though he didn't voice this. He sighed again and left the mess hall without another word to the other Vulcan, (who didn't appear disgruntled by this) and headed back to his temporary room.

The door slid open to reveal Jim doing sit-ups in nothing other than a pair of tight boxer briefs, his feet tucked under the edge of their bed.

"I have brought you breakfast," Spock announced, and Jim glanced at him, his mouth moving silently as he counted his repetitions. He nodded his thanks and went back to his sit-ups, and Spock pointedly did not watch the ripple of his muscles as he moved. Their relationship had not progressed past kissing and entirely innocent sleeping arrangements, and he was determined to keep it that way until Jim's mental state could be either fixed or better assessed.

From the floor, Jim huffed and stood up, stretching. He flashed a smile at Spock and headed toward the small bathroom.

"I'm gonna sonic real quick, then I'll eat. Thanks for that, by the way. How long do we have til we dock?"

Spock consulted the chronometer. "Approximately two hours, thirteen minutes." From the bathroom, he heard the gentle hum of the sonic shower starting. "I discussed the state of the colony with Stonn," he called toward the bathroom.

Jim replied with his voice slightly raised over the sonic's hum. "Oh? What's up?"

"The situation is bordering on dire," Spock sighed, leaning against the wall outside the bathroom. "I fear that stubbornness and short-sighted policies will result in my species' entire extinction within a few years."

The sonic shut off, and Jim emerged, a towel wrapped around his waist and in the process of tying his hair back. "Why?" he asked, going to his bag and rummaging in it for clean underwear.

Spock turned his eyes to the ceiling as Jim dressed and said, "There have been no births, and there are several unbonded males. I cannot see their situation ending well."

Jim shrugged as he pulled on his shirt. "Maybe we can convince some of them to come back with us. Give 'em a chance to sow their wild oats."

Spock rolled his eyes at Jim's expression. "Perhaps," he allowed.

('')

Stonn landed in the Vulcan colony ship's docking bay with a metallic thunk. There were a few minutes of recompression in the bay, and then Stonn opened the hatch, allowing the passengers into the ship proper.

Spock stopped in the doorway to the bridge to speak to him before they left. "Stonn," he said, and the other Vulcan fixed him with an annoyed look. Spock ignored this and powered on: "I would like to speak to you again after Jim and my business has been completed."

Stonn made a noncommittal noise, and Spock sighed. "I would appreciate it," he said.

"Very well. I will likely see you for the evening meal," Stonn replied shortly, and went back to checking system shut-down procedure. Spock turned and left the bridge, joining Jim at the airlock.

After a moment, it hissed open and Jim stepped forward, followed closely by Spock. They headed toward the only three lifeforms around—the elders standing perfectly still, awaiting them.

Spock heard Jim swallow nervously, and lengthened his stride to catch up to him, placed a steadying hand on Jim's arm. Jim glanced at him appreciatively, and Spock caught his own smile in time to bury it. Now would not be the time to flaunt his relaxed attitude on emotionalism.

The tense mood was broken, however, when the youngest of the three elders stepped forward and pulled Jim into a hug. The other two elders' faces somehow became more statuesque, and Spock suppressed the urge to sigh.

"My friend," the elder Spock said, a hint of pleasure lurking around his mouth. "The news of your continued existence is immeasurably pleasing." Jim smiled somewhat awkwardly (Spock had explained the circumstances behind their dual existence months ago) and glanced between the two Spocks.

"Weird," he mumbled, then said louder, "I appreciate that. Nice to know I'm wanted."

Spock desired to point out that Jim was  _always_  wanted, but he held his tongue. T'Pau was watching him closely and he needed to make his best impression. He had the (perhaps not entirely) illogical notion that if they displeased the elders in any fashion, they would be sent away without receiving help. He stepped forward and greeted all three.

"Honorable elders, I wish to offer gratitude for your allowance of meeting with us." He straightened his back and clasped his hands behind it. "Regardless of the outcome, it is… good of you."

T'Pau made a graceful gesture of acceptance. "We owe you a favor. As far as we may have fallen, it is honorable to repay our debts." Selow nodded in agreement. Spock repressed the urge to snort in derision—T'Pau was acting as if she had been willing to see them from the moment Spock had first contacted her. Apparently she was ignoring the fact that she'd practically accused him of wanting to sabotage the colony when he'd called.

"I will show you to your rooms," the elder Spock told them, jerking Spock out of his spiraling annoyance. "You should rest from your journey. This evening, we will assess the state of your mind," he finished, directing this last part toward Jim, who nodded.

Selow spoke next. "I would suggest engaging in the deepest level of mediation you are capable of in preparation. We will likely not begin an attempt to heal your injuries tonight—this will merely allow us to assess the issue." He didn't sound particularly confident with Jim's ability to meditate.

Spock suppressed the urge to be annoyed on Jim's behalf, and nodded. "I will guide him in mediation," he offered, now ignoring (attempting to ignore, rather) the affectionate way his elder self was regarding Jim. "At what time should we rejoin you?"

"I will call for you at 1800 hours," T'Pau said, and with a nod, she and Selow turned and left, leaving the elder Spock to guide them around the ship. He turned to them, his eyes slightly betraying his happiness.

"Has T'Pau fully informed you of the nature of Jim's mental barrier?" Spock asked him, and elder Spock nodded.

"Yes," he said, turning and gesturing for them to walk with him. "I believe that combined we will be able to heal whatever block the Vehsin have implanted."

Jim smiled widely. "I sure as hell hope so. If three elder Vulcans can't fix me, I'll eat a whole plate of  _gagh_." He elbowed Spock, who raised an eyebrow. "And you know how much I hate worms. And," he continued teasingly, "it'll probably be a pleasure having my head rifled through by practiced and seasoned Vulcans, rather than flailed through by two emotionally compromised young'uns."

"I do not 'flail'," muttered Spock. Jim smirked and briefly squeezed his fingers.

The elder Spock had by now led them out of the docking bay and down a hallway to a turbolift. The three men entered, and he asked, " _Two_  Vulcans?"

"Sybok and I have both attempted to meld with Jim, both separately and simultaneously. It had no effect other than making all three of us nauseous," Spock told him with a slight grimace. It had been an unpleasant experiment.

"Sybok travels with you…" elder Spock said slowly. “He is… I find this news surprising."

Spock raised an eyebrow. "He is invaluable to me. Was your version of Sybok less so?"

Elder Spock nodded slightly. "In my time, our brother was a fanatic, though he meant well. He died saving the crew of the  _Enterprise_."

Jim and Spock absorbed this for a moment and followed elder Spock when the turbolift doors opened.

"Sybok is…" Spock considered his words for a moment. "He has accepted his emotions, and expresses them freely, yet holds them in check. He is in a relationship with Nyota Uhura, and though they have not yet bonded, he has told me on several occasions that she grounds him. I would never consider him fanatical."

"It is good that he has found happiness in this world," elder Spock said softly, his eyes far away. "The changes in our divergent timelines are astounding." The other two men nodded, and Jim opened his mouth to ask a question, but elder Spock stopped in front of a door, and hesitated.

"In regards to your relationship…" he said, somewhat uncertainly.

"We will share a single room," Spock told him, and elder Spock nodded, the crinkle near his eyes betraying how pleased he was. He palmed the door open and gestured for them to enter first. Jim made an appreciative noise when he walked in—the room was large and comfortably furnished, but obviously had not been used for some time. Spock had a flash of the future of this ship, slowly emptying of its passengers as time passed, and suddenly felt overwhelmed by sadness. He turned to his elder self and realized they had shared a similar thought.

"I cannot see a way to save ourselves from this fate," elder Spock told him quietly, and Spock shook his head.

"Did this war not happen in your timeline?" he asked as he followed Jim into the room and set his bag next to the desk.

"No," elder Spock said from his position near the door. "I had never heard of the Vehsin race prior to their initial attacks." He glanced at Jim, doubtlessly remembering the short and painful message he had received from his younger counterpart several years ago. Jim didn't notice how both Spocks let their gaze linger on him for a moment—he was apparently distracted by his close inspection of a graceful sculpture in a corner of the room.

"I have thought at great length about why this species would wage war in this time and not in mine," elder Spock continued after a moment. "I believe that they perceived the Federation as weak—and we were. There was much dissention in this time that was not present in mine."

Spock nodded. That reasoning seemed logical, in a terrible sort of way. He slowly refocused back on Jim, and realized that he had now turned his attention to them and was watching with his arms crossed. He looked pensive, and Spock had the sudden urge to take him into his arms and reassure him.

He turned to elder Spock, wanting to make an excuse that would allow them to be alone, and saw that he was already moving to leave, a hint of a smile on his lined face.

"I will come to find you at 1300 hours," elder Spock said. "We can eat and then prepare for tonight. Please spend the intervening time wisely—clearing your mind as best you can would be an excellent idea. As Selow said, the actual healing will likely take place tomorrow, but a collected mind will help us form a clear idea of what we will be facing."

"Can do," Jim said, and offered elder Spock a wide smile. "See you at lunch." And with a quick nod, elder Spock left, the door sliding shut quietly behind him.

Jim stood where he was for a moment, the smile slipping from his face, replaced with an introspective, slightly lost look, until Spock gently cleared his throat. Jim's eyes flicked up to meet his and with a few long strides, Spock suddenly found his arms full of warm human. Jim kissed his jaw softly, laced their fingers together, and said, "That was kinda weird."

"To what aspect of our latest interactions are you referring?" Spock mumbled, inclining his head to nuzzle slightly into Jim's scalp.

"Pretty much all of it. Vulcans, man… no offense." Spock hummed his understanding, and Jim continued. "But mostly the other you part," he said, and laughed softly into Spock's neck, then pulled back slightly. "He was watching me awfully close."

"He was merely happy to see you," Spock countered, allowing himself a small smile. "You were close friends before the war."

Jim smirked a dangerous smile at him. "And you were just peachy with me being all 'close' to another version of you? I saw a couple glares you shot him."

Spock cleared his throat and leaned forward, speaking into Jim's jaw. "Jealousy is illogical."

He felt Jim's grin widen. "Translation: 'I'm jealous as all hell, but I won't admit it.' And don't even deny it, you know I speak Spock," he said, giggling.

"Perhaps," Spock allowed, and moved away from Jim after placing a gentle kiss on his forehead. "But now is not the time to deliberate upon your friendship with my elder self. We should attempt to meditate as we have been instructed."

"Fine," Jim said, rolling his eyes in mock-annoyance. "Gosh, so demanding…" Spock watched him with amusement—despite not having any promises that the Vulcan elders would entirely heal him, Jim was in a spectacular mood, and Spock couldn't help but feel affected. Jim's happiness was contagious, and they were both smiling as they prepared the room for meditation.

('')

Lunch had come and gone with little fanfare. Dinner—with Stonn in attendance as promised—was slightly more formal, as most of the Vulcan colonists ate this meal together. Spock and Jim had received several lingering looks—blank (with a hint of curiosity) from most, open interest from a few of the younger children, and dark animosity from an even smaller minority.

Rather surprisingly, Stonn was their best asset at dinner, diverting the odd comment or question, and even once rising and escorting out a male who had been actually _glaring_  at them from across the hall. When he returned, he muttered "The fever," to Spock, who nodded in understanding.

Jim watched the Vulcan colonists' interactions curiously, but offered nothing other than restrained smiles and polite words to the general conversation. Spock was inwardly pleased—they'd succeeded in calming one another's minds during their (essentially) day-long meditations, and he felt confident that they would have a measure of success this evening with the elders. Jim's obviously relaxed demeanor was proof of their hard work, and he felt that the elders would deem it acceptable.

Over the course of dinner, Spock finally explained their reason for seeking the Vulcan elders' help to Stonn. Stonn was intrigued, offering several hypotheses and speculations about the nature of the mind block, and Spock was pleased to notice that his fellow Vulcan was relaxing slightly. If Stonn remained in such an amiable mood, Spock decided he would again bring up alternative options for the unbonded males of the colony.

Soon, the hall began to clear, and Jim, Spock, and Stonn were approached by T'Pau.

"Mister Kirk," she said. "If you will come with me, we will begin the assessment." Jim and Spock stood, but T'Pau placed a hand on Spock's shoulder, stopping him. "Your presence is unnecessary, Spock," she said, and he frowned. Jim let out an involuntary (though very quiet) shocked noise, and even Stonn raised an eyebrow.

"I was under the assumption—" Spock began, but Selow (who had just joined them) shook his head.

"Your presence will be a distraction to Mister Kirk's mind. You may inadvertently cause the end result to be less favorable."

"Hey, it's cool, Spock. No worries," Jim said, smiling an artificially bright grin, but the slightest tremor in his voice betrayed his nerves.

"…Yes," Spock allowed. "I understand. I will wait for you in our quarters." He turned to T'Pau and said quietly, "Please inform me immediately of any complications." She nodded, then led Jim out of the hall, Selow following behind. Spock watched them go and sat heavily at the table. After a moment, he realized Stonn was still watching him.

"Do you continue to desire my presence?" Stonn asked gingerly, and Spock nodded slowly.

"Perhaps we could speak of another topic while we wait," he said, forcing himself out of his unpleasantly swirling thoughts, and Stonn confirmed that that would be acceptable. Spock rose and led him out of the hall, headed for his and Jim's temporary quarters.

"I wished to speak to you regarding an offer to bring any unbonded males that desired back to Earth," Spock told Stonn as they walked. "Or any bonded pairs that so desired, for that matter." He ignored the way Stonn stiffened beside him at his words.

"It is illogical to hide yourselves away to die," he continued. "And while this solution would also end with the dilution, and eventual extinction, of our race, it would be done in a manner that is less abhorrent. We need not die from our biological urges." They arrived at Spock's door, and he palmed it open, gesturing for Stonn to enter. He was mildly surprised when Stonn did so with no hesitation.

"Your offer is logical," Stonn said once inside and seated at the desk. "but I do not believe it will be greeted with similar logic. We have become an isolated community."

"Of this I am aware," Spock said dryly, and Stonn shot him an almost-annoyed look. Spock tried another angle. "You said you were resigned to your personal fate—do you remain of that mindset?"

Stonn was quiet for a long moment, then shifted to straighten his back further. "I have considered your words. I feel that I would be more open to listening to options regarding my future than some in the colony."

Spock raised an eyebrow. "You feel that the unbonded males would not desire to listen to other options?"

"They will listen," Stonn allowed, "but they may not agree. There is a growing mindset amongst the colonists that we must simply accept out fate. And I believe that T'Pau and Selow would not agree to this offer."

Spock frowned. "Ours has never been a race to sit back and allow misfortune to consume us. It is… difficult… for me to understand this mindset. Do you believe that elder Spock would agree with my offer?"

Stonn half-shrugged. "Perhaps. It is logical to assume that your minds work similarly, and if you have offered this option, it is likely he has also thought of it. I will discuss your offer with the other unbonded males. Perhaps you should speak to your elder self. He may have more sway over T'Pau and Selow than any other."

"Yes, I will do that, but not until… Jim…" Spock trailed off, ashamed that he would think to hold something back from the elders until he was sure Jim was healed. Stonn however, seemed to understand.

"I would have done anything to assure T'Pring's safety," he told Spock quietly. "It is only logical to protect your mate."

('')

T'Pau led Jim into a small room near the center of the ship that was obviously used for various ceremonial purposes. There was a low pedestal in the center of the room, and the walls were lined with benches. A seat that vaguely resembled a dentist's chair had been placed on the pedestal. It was sweltering, the lighting was dim, and Jim was immediately wildly uncomfortable. He wished Spock was there.

"Sit," Selow told him, (firmly, but not unkindly) gesturing to the seat on the pedestal. Behind them, the door to the room slid open again and elder Spock entered. His eyes crinkled in that I'm-smiling-but-not-showing-it way that Jim was used to with his Spock. He felt a little better, knowing that at least one Spock was there to reassure him.

Jim eased into the chair, and the three elders moved to surround him. T'Pau was chanting quietly under her breath, her eyes closed, and after a moment of this she stopped and regarded Jim.

"We will meld with you now. Please allow us whatever access you can—do not attempt to block anything."

Jim nodded, and elder Spock guided him to lie back in the chair.

He closed his eyes, and after a beat of silence, he felt six hands settle on various parts of his body. Two hands on his face, two hands on his lower arms, two hands pressed to the back of his own.

Everything was silent. Jim held his breath, tried to sink into the meditation trance.

There was the block—a dark seething mass that obstructed a path in his mind. He could feel the Vulcans' presence nearby, knew they were inspecting the block as well.

T'Pau's mind felt like cool silk, all flowing around corners and into crevasses. She was easy to allow in, and Jim got the idea that she was so practiced that she could have moved practically unnoticed through his head.

Selow was harsher, like sand. He alternated between being almost tickling and grating—but his presence wasn't unpleasant… just odd.

And the elder Spock's mind was familiar, yet just different enough to know that he wasn't Jim's Spock. He was like smoldering embers, radiating warmth and comfort.

Just as Jim was adjusting to sharing his headspace, T'Pau prodded the block and everything erupted into nauseating pain. Jim was vaguely aware that he was gagging, but T'Pau wasn't moving back. Rather, she was encouraging the others forward to touch, to explore, as well. Jim started to white out, a high pitched noise (that he was unaware he was actually making) accosting his ears.

The minds sharing his head were upset as well, he realized. And now they were slowly pulling back, unwrapping themselves from where he had unconsciously latched onto them in desperation. T'Pau was the last to leave, and the second Jim was again alone in his head, he leaned over, threw up, and passed out.

When he awoke again, it was to three blank faces staring down at him.

"Jim," T'Pau said softly. "We have completed our assessment of your mind."

Jim had a pounding headache, but sat up slightly anyway. "Was it…" he trailed off, suddenly terrified that whatever they had seen was beyond them, that he'd never be complete again, that it was a lost cause…

Selow and elder Spock exchanged a glance, then turned to T'Pau. "We believe we will be able to break the block, but it may… be a painful process," she continued. "We are worried that you may not emerge fully intact."

Jim took a shaky breath. "What do you mean?"

Elder Spock cleared his throat. "There is something other than your memories hidden behind the block, but we cannot tell what it is unless we release it. We would be gambling that your conscious mind would be able to assimilate whatever it is that has been implanted."

"What does that  _mean_?" Jim asked again, slightly too sharply, but none of the elders seemed to take offense.

"It means," elder Spock said, "that releasing the block may overwhelm your mind and drive you insane."

"Right," Jim muttered. "So that's… great." He was silent for a minute, feeling the headache ebb, and then went on. "Why would the Vehsins put something  _else_  in when they were messing around my head? What the hell could it be?"

"We cannot explain until the block is released," Selow offered.

Jim thought for a minute. "Are you still willing to try and break the block tomorrow?"

T'Pau nodded, then said, "If this is what you still desire, despite the risk, we will need to meditate for approximately ten hours. We would be ready for you at that point."

Jim voiced his understanding, and T'Pau and Selow left. Elder Spock, however, lingered. "I will escort you back to your quarters."

"Can I stay here?"

Elder Spock's lips narrowed slightly, and Jim cringed. The Vulcan was annoyed.

"Why would you wish to stay here? Surely you must discuss your decision with my younger counterpart."

Jim chewed on his lip. "No, I don't really want to do that," he admitted. He glanced up, eyes widening slightly at elder Spock's frustrated gaze, and continued. "I'm not gonna tell him, and you shouldn't tell him, either. He'd just worry, and it's gotta happen one way or the other, and him freaking out won't help me be all calm and collected."

"Your assessment of the situation is erroneous," elder Spock said shortly. "It is  _not_  necessary for your mind to be unblocked. Preferable, perhaps, but not at the possible loss of your sanity."

Jim stood and started pacing, his headache now almost entirely gone. "No, it's even more necessary now. The Vehsins  _put something_  in my head. What is it? Secret judo training? Maybe I'm a sleeper agent. I have to know—it's not safe if I don't."

Elder Spock looked contemplative. "Spock will not react well to your keeping information from him."

Jim shook his head. "I'm doing it to protect him," he said simply.

('')

Jim was still pacing the length of the ceremonial room when the door in the far wall slid open to reveal a very pissed-off Spock.

"He told you, didn't he?" Jim asked as Spock approached him. "Interfering bastard.  _You're_  an interfering bastard."

"Indeed he did, and it is fortuitous that he chose to do so." Spock's voice was hard, and Jim cringed slightly. Spock felt a surge of… something… validation, maybe. It was enough to know that Jim felt guilty about not telling him.

"I didn't want you to worry," Jim mumbled, resuming his pacing, but Spock shot out a hand and grabbed his arm.

"You do not need to do this," Spock told him softly, and Jim shook his head vehemently.

"You know I have to—don't even try to tell me otherwise. I could be a conduit straight to the Vehsin war… thing… commanders. Whoever is in charge of their military. I could be a sleeper agent, and the next time I'm near Admiral Pike I could get set off and assassinate him. Or you, or Sybok, or… anybody. I could be a spy and not even know it, and I  _can't_  handle not knowing. It's not safe.  _I'm_  not safe." He tried to wrench his arm away, but Spock tightened his grip. "Let go," Jim growled.

"No," Spock said, and pulled Jim to him. "You are endlessly frustrating," he mumbled, and pressed a kiss to Jim's cheek. "But I agree with your assessment of the situation. And I come with an offer."

Jim made a noise of inquiry and wrapped himself around the Vulcan, apparently taking the kiss to mean that all was forgiven. Spock huffed in a mixture of annoyance and affection and dragged them both over to one of the low seats that ringed the edges of the room.

"My elder counterpart explained the hidden nature of the block," Spock clarified once they were seated, and Jim sat back and crossed his arms.

"What about it?"

"That it apparently holds back more information than merely your memories."

"Did he tell you they think I'll probably go all batshit crazy if that amount of… whatever it is… is released in my head?"

"In slightly gentler terms, yes." Now Spock paused. It should not be so hard to speak these next words—after all, he had asked Jim this same question once before.

"I believe I have found a way around this," he said slowly, and Jim leaned forward and laced their fingers.

"How?"

Spock looked down at their hands, drew courage through their touch. "You must remember that we had, at another time, planned for these events…"

"Spit it out, Spock," he heard Jim say, and through their fingers, Spock caught a hint of amusement mixed with apprehension. Of course Jim would know what Spock was about to say, and of course he would find Spock's proposal funny. He'd laughed the first time, too, though he'd claimed later that he was only laughing because he was nervous.

Spock took a breath. "If we were to bond, I would be able to temper the flow of information." He glanced up at Jim, who was watching him with soft eyes. He resisted the urge to surge forward and claim the human's lips. "It is perhaps not the most traditional reason to bond…"

"Oh my god, shut up," Jim ordered, and pulled Spock closer, kissing him firmly. "Based on everything that's happened to us so far, I was kinda expecting to bond with you as soon as my memories came back, but this is just as good."

Spock let out a sigh of relief, and Jim smiled, leaning forward to continue their kiss.

They moved unhurriedly against one another for long minutes, but then Jim suddenly pulled back. "Wait," he said sharply. "Would this mean you'd run the risk of going crazy, too?"

Spock mentally swore. Damn Jim Kirk and his deductive reasoning… "Yes," he admitted. "Though the probability is very low. I am trained in relegating information within the mind."

"How low?" Jim asked darkly. "And no rounding."

"Alone, the elders believe you would have an eighty-three point seven chance of becoming overwhelmed. Bonded together, we would merely have a twenty point two percent chance." He twisted his fingers in Jim's hands, aware that those figures were higher than he (and doubtlessly Jim) would have liked.

Jim sighed, then fell silent, thinking. After several minutes, (during which Spock began to prepare himself for rejection) he said softly, "All right. I'm not thrilled about it, but it makes sense. And I really don't want to go crazy." He smiled slightly at Spock, who twitched his mouth in return.

"So how do we do this?" Jim asked.

"When it is time for the elders to break the mental block, I will participate as well. The instant the block is dissolved, I will bond us, and hopefully, I will be able to temper the flow of outside information into your mind. I can then instruct you in building mental blocks against it, and possibly discover a way to remove the information entirely."

Jim opened his mouth to ask a question, and Spock shook his head, anticipating it. "The elders would not be capable of instructing you in building barricades. By necessity, it will need to happen quickly, and therefore the one helping you with this must move… deeply. That level of meld would undoubtedly result in a bond, desired or not."

"But the information might overwhelm you, too," Jim muttered.

"Speed will be of the essence," Spock countered. "But I believe I am more than capable."

"And you can't bond us right now?"

Spock shook his head. "The block would not allow the level of meld required to fully bond us. It must be dissolved before such an event can take place."

They both fell quiet, separately worrying, but Jim caved first and broke the silence. "Can we go back to our room and sleep for a bit? Maybe meditate? I need to be prepared, I mean…" He looked up at Spock, his eyes wide. "It's so close now."

"Yes," Spock breathed, and pulled Jim to his feet, leading the way from the room and back to their quarters.

('')

Ten hours passed both too quickly and not quickly enough, and at the end of it, Jim was again lying on the chair on the pedestal, and the circle of elders were this time joined by Spock.

There was no fanfare—all present were aware of the serious nature of this endeavor. Eight hands settled on Jim's body—though both of  _his_  Spock's were in place on his face. All four Vulcans slid into a shallow meld, enough to communicate wordlessly, and with that, the process began. Jim hitched a terrified breath, and Spock tried to soothe him through their touch, but he was petrified as well.  _At least_ , he thought toward Jim,  _if we lose our minds, we lose them together_. Jim huffed out a not-particularly-amused laugh, and T'Pau's lips twitched down disapprovingly.

She then began to chant in her smooth voice, and both Spock and Jim felt a wash of calm. After a moment, her words were joined by Selow's, then elder Spock's. Spock himself didn't say a word, merely stared into Jim's eyes, preparing himself to move quickly when the block dissolved.

Jim closed his eyes and tried to watch from within.

The elders were again approaching the block, pulling it at, prodding, now striking fast and hard, and Jim's stomach rebelled against the intrusion. But Spock, wonderful, beautiful, life-saving Spock, wrapped his mind around Jim's, shielding him from the worst of the pain.

The elders' chanting grew louder, their strikes more precise and brutal, and the block wavered, dimmed. It perhaps wasn't as dark as before, more membranous, but Jim couldn't be sure. Spock thought it was—he felt a stronger stirring of hope than he had felt so far.

" _I'farfau"_  [Break now] the elders repeatedly ordered in unison, bearing down, pressing to the point where it was unbearable, and Jim and Spock, (already so intertwined they could barely tell where one stopped and the other started) cried out in pain, shuddered against the demand.

And then, like a veil lifted, the block dissolved. There was a half second during which the elders snapped out of Jim's mind and Spock simultaneously dove deeper, twisting past the flood of information, hurriedly erecting barriers, but it was so much, too much.

As one, Jim and Spock moaned and started shaking, the information dump now physically hurting, and in the small room at the center of the dying colony, three elder Vulcans watched helplessly as the two men they had promised to help lost control.

Jim convulsed once on the chair and stilled. Spock's legs went limp, his fingers slipped from Jim's face, and he collapsed in a puddle on the floor.


	9. (Pause)

The Vehsin Queen's third daughter stood over her two elder sisters' bodies, a small smile on her face. She made to wipe the blood staining the knife she held off on her robes, but thought better of it and stepped into the corridor, surprising a random second-level male who was passing by.

"You," she called, and he stopped, jerking rigidly to attention.

"Yes, Princess?" he asked. She was momentarily intrigued—his voice held no tremor when addressing her. Had this been any other circumstance, she would have been intrigued… but right now she needed a scapegoat, and this male would work as well as any other.

She swept up to him, folding her wings neatly behind her to form a train. "Hold this, please," she said, and handed him the bloodied knife. Then she carefully wiped her hands and arms on his tunic.

He followed each of her actions, obviously confused, but saying nothing. She sighed. It was almost too easy, really. Males were just so programmed to do what the Princesses said, it was like… stealing sugarwater from a larvae. After checking carefully to make sure she had no blood on her, she stepped back and cleared her throat.

"Guards!" she shouted, and immediately heard the sound of running footsteps. They rounded the corner, and she burst into tears. The unfortunate second-level male looked even more shocked, though he'd opened his mouth, likely to form some sort of protest.

"He… I was visiting my sisters and he…" she sobbed, and gestured to his bloody clothes, the knife. The guards' eyes widened and one rushed past her into her sisters' quarters—the other roughly grabbed her scapegoat and forced him to the ground. From inside the quarters, she heard a gasp, and the sound of the guard attempting to revive one of her sisters.

She was unable to hold back a brief smirk—she had cut deep. There would be no reviving.

The guard emerged from the room, shaking slightly. "Princess, I…" From the floor, she heard a shocked gasp as her scapegoat realized what was happening.

She forced another sob and felt fresh tears pour down her face. She spun and dropped to her knees by her scapegoat's head, momentarily relished the terror she saw in his eyes. But then he blinked, and the Princess was startled—she'd never seen a male look at her with… was that fury? before. This one was a rare specimen. It was almost a pity he had to die…

"You have committed regicide, scum," she said flatly, masking her surprise at his odd reaction. "You will be executed."

He finally found his voice, and when he spoke, the Princess was actually quite thankful he was being held down by the burly guard. "Lies," he buzzed. "You are the murderer."

She stood, gestured angrily, and sneered in what she hoped was a haughty manner. "Put him in the brig. And send for slaves to clean up my sisters' bodies." She let out another dramatic sob. "For the… funeral." She buried her face in her hands, and thought that if awards were given for acting, she certainly would win one. The guards (though they weren't the smartest of her species) certainly didn't suspect anything. "I must contact the Queen Mother," she continued. "She will be heartbroken."

Both guards grabbed the scapegoat and dragged him (still protesting, and at an increasing volume) down the corridor. The second they were gone, the (now First) princess stopped crying and smiled. That was  _far_  too easy, surprisingly independent male aside.

And since she'd sent her younger sisters on a wild chase toward Bajor (as if the manifest from the escaped ship was anything but faked,  _really_ ) she would be first in line to Earth. Because where else would a rebel ship with Kirk as a passenger go?

It was mildly frustrating that it had taken over two months to get this far, but her elders sisters were overly cautious, interrogating known rebel fighters, extracting information on where the Earth base was located… but now  _she_  was in charge of this information, and their ridiculous leader and his ridiculous forest base would easily fall into her claws. And then it would be routine maneuvers to locate the missing Kirk and the information he held, and then… she allowed herself a smile. Her position would be secured. Once her mother was gone, of course. But she was fairly sure that wouldn't be particularly hard to arrange.

She turned and strode toward her own quarters. Now that her sisters (who had been stronger, yes, but not when surprised with a concealed knife) had been so tragically assassinated, there was nothing standing in the way of becoming heir to the Vehsin Empire.

They would be at Earth within two days.


	10. Joined

Elder Spock sucked in a breath and swiftly moved to support his younger self. "No," he muttered. "This is unacceptable, Spock. You are stronger than this. Do not allow your mind to break…"

He stiffened when T'Pau placed a firm hand on his shoulder. "We must move them to where they may possibly receive assistance," she said, and elder Spock nodded. He stood, easily carrying his younger self's limp body in his arms, vaguely registering that he himself had never been this underweight. He found himself becoming angry at yet another trial this universe's Spock was forced to endure. He stared down at the familiar face and began to speak again, soothing words of comfort and strength.

Selow moved forward and lifted (a now gently shaking) Jim from the chair, likewise easily supporting the human. Taking his cue from Spock, he began speaking to the unconscious man, slightly stilted at first but quickly settling into something that resembled a healing chant. Spock noticed T'Pau watching them with an approving air.

She led the way from the ceremonial room and toward their medical bay, not exactly hurrying, but not taking her time, either. If they could place them in biobeds, they could at least monitor their physiological reactions—and assist if they became chemically unbalanced in any way.

It was entirely possible that Jim and Spock would simply need time—none of the elders were certain about the type or amount of information that had been housed behind Jim's blocked mind. Hopefully, the pair would still be strong enough to bring things back under control. Though the longer they remained unconscious, the less likely it became that they would be able to return.

Elder Spock attempted to force himself to think optimistically, to not dwell on the fact that these two men—both of whom he cared about greatly—may be forever lost, doomed to float in nothingness until their bodies rebelled at the loss of their minds and died.

He was entirely unsuccessful.

('')

Spock was floating, but it was far from pleasant.

Images flashed past him, meaningless jumbles of light and sound and madness. He whimpered, and this noise reverberated in echoing blankness. He attempted to curl into himself, only to hazily realize he did not possess a physical body. But never mind the loss of his body—he had no idea  _who he was_.

This was unfortunate.

Seemingly from far away, he heard a quiet voice ordering him to wake, informing him that he was stronger than this… He reached for the voice and found nothing—only more confusing blankness.

And then his mind focused sharply, and suddenly he was once again corporeal.

He was standing near a precipice. His hands were being cuffed behind his back by a robotic traffic officer, a model that was popular on Earth. From beyond the cliff, he could hear a quiet crackle of flames, and there was a wispy column of smoke drifting up from where he had crashed the car. His hands and arms were scraped raw and bleeding, but he was laughing. He was bruised severely underneath his clothing—careful, fist shaped bruises that formed only on his chest and back and legs—never on his face or arms…

He blinked, this time opening his eyes to a cave he had sheltered in during his  _khas-wan_. He wrapped his arms around his torso, shivering both from cold and fear, listening to the sound of rocks scraping together as the  _le-matya_  mercilessly stalked him. He let out a soft whimper and tightened his grip on his sharpened spear. Its rough surface dug into painful (and already undoubtedly infected) abrasions on his hands, sustained earlier in the day when an unexpected shifting of rocks beneath his feet had almost sent him over the edge of a cliff…

 _Blink_. He was standing, panting, over the body of a young man in a palace guard's uniform. His wrists were bruised where the guard had been holding him down, and he could feel a black eye forming. The guard's pants were around his ankles—his own were ripped beyond repair. He cringed as he pulled the clothing from his would-be-rapist and let out a sob when he found a half-eaten protein bar in a pocket. He ate it in a rush, then immediately threw it up because his stomach was so disused to food…

 _Blink_. His planet was crumbling around him, destroyed by a madman. They had seconds. He pulled out his communicator, ignoring the screaming in his mind of billions of his people dying at once and ordered extraction— _safe, almost safe_ —felt the young Ensign initiate transport… and watched in horror as his mother fell to her death, just out of arm's reach…

 _Blink_. He was jolted awake on a medical bed, tied down, surrounded by unfamiliar bug-like aliens. He had no idea who he was or how he'd come to be here—the only thing he knew was that his head felt like it was being dug into with jagged knives. There was a glint of steel at the top of his vision and realized with horror that his head  _was_  being dug into…

 _Blink._ He was crouched against a filthy wall in a cramped cell, shivering violently from fever. His cell mate was dead—had died days ago and was beginning to smell. He threw up the moldy bread he'd tried to eat a short time ago, and staring at the floor, resigned himself to dying in the reprogramming center. His fingers trailed blindly across a jagged shard of rock, and he felt blood swell to the surface. An abhorrent idea blearily surfaced…

He cried out, flailing violently against the memories, but they simply sped up, became indistinct—flashes of faces, both of people he knew and did not know, situations seen from two perspectives, then sickening images—not memories, more like files of information—of the Vehsins, terrible vengeance and hatred unleashed upon people who had done no harm.

He could not do this, he could not survive, he needed… he needed…

A half-thought—an image of blue eyes—surfaced, and that seemed to make sense… He grasped blindly at it, and suddenly, he felt… tethered. The memories swung toward a new direction— _Jim_ , infuriatingly cocky in a simulation and biting into an apple;  _Jim_ , running from a group of hostile aliens on an unfamiliar planet;  _Jim_ , coolly ordering evasive maneuvers from his seat on the bridge;  _Jim_ , sitting across from him in the recreation hall, knocking over his king with a smug look on his face; _Jim_ , sneaking up behind him to press a warm kiss to his shoulder;  _Jim_ , eyes blown wide as Spock moved inside him…

Spock.

His name was Spock.

He was Vulcan.

There had been a meld, and something  _dark_  that had broken, and a flood… the block.  _Jim_. He had bonded them, he knew he had…

On a bed in the Vulcan colony's medical bay, Spock gasped awake, opened his eyes, and pushed himself to his elbows. He breathed out shakily and raised a hand to halt the approach of a medical assistant. He glanced around, found T'Pau, Selow, and his elder self watching him with tense but carefully blanked faces. He sat up fully and zeroed in on Jim, simultaneously adjusting himself into a meditative pose.

They were bonded, he could feel it. And as a result, there was no need to physically touch the human. For this he was grateful, as he did not think his legs would support him at this point. He felt sore and raw, exhausted beyond comprehension… But his personal shortcomings did not matter at the moment. He closed his eyes and sank back down, steeling himself against the pain and confusion he knew was swirling on the other side of the bond.

And now he was searching, (for what, exactly, he wasn't sure, but he would know it when he found it) inching deeper, picking carefully into Jim's mind. He was flowing through a flood of knowledge, most of which appeared to focus on… the Vehsin? Unpleasant images of prisoners and war plans mixed with Jim's essence, and he understood that these things needed to be separated. If he could not pull them apart, he would not be able to find Jim.

The specific information that had been hidden behind the block was irrelevant—but each piece fit a different pattern. Anything foreign, he started pushing to the side, away, untangling, partitioning. After an eternity of this, he found what he apparently was looking for—a bright golden thread. He followed it further down, some unconscious part of his mind informing him this was the representation of their bond. And at this thread's end, Jim's internal representation of his Self— _his katra_ —was huddled.

The image of Jim was shifting and dull, nondescript and only vaguely humanoid in appearance. As Spock watched, Jim's edges blurred further and he cringed back when bits of information brushed past him. Spock trembled, pain for his bondmate the ruling emotion, and so he dropped down, wrapped himself around Jim's self-projection, and breathed. He felt Jim slowly relax and after an extended moment, focus sharply. When Spock pulled back slightly, Jim's  _katra_  was much brighter, stable, and had a hint of Jim's features where his face should be.

 _/help me/_  Spock ordered.  _/push away the excess/_

 _/can't, it's too much/_  Jim whispered.

 _/nonsense. help me/_  Spock reprimanded, sending feelings of confidence and support pulsing through their bond. He watched as Jim became more clear—no blurring about the edges.

Spock reached out again, tangled his katra with Jim's, pushed feelings of love and calm and togetherness and bravery and success to his bondmate, and on the biobed next to Spock's in the medbay, Jim's eyes flew open, glazed and unseeing. "Spock," he murmured.

"With me, Jim," Spock muttered in return, and slowly, achingly, their thoughts began to coalesce.

Within Jim's mind, his self-image stood and embraced Spock's lovingly for a moment before taking a stabilizing breath and turning to face the still roaring flood of knowledge.

 _/stop/_  he ordered, and held out his hands, grabbing Spock's for a moment in an effort to get him to copy his actions. Had the situation been any less dire, Spock would have been amused at the Human's insistence to treat his mindscape as a physical place—but if that is how Jim wanted to picture his mind, that is how Jim's mind would function best. So, he raised his hands as well, also ordered the flow of information to stop, and gradually, it did.

On the biobed, Jim breathed out a sigh of relief. Next to him, Spock visibly relaxed. The elders watched, carefully monitoring their heart rates and adrenaline levels. Elder Spock could not help expressing his relief that in both men, readings were becoming more normal.

Back in Jim's mind, the pair began to work methodically—Jim untangling each memory from the imbedded information, then handing the excess to Spock, who simultaneously instructed him in mental barriers. The unwanted information was packed away, divided into folders—Vehsin physiology, war plans, infrastructure… and Jim's mind began to relax. They could do this.

It was thirteen hours before either man physically moved or spoke again, but when they did, they did so suddenly. Spock gasped and almost fell off his bed—his fall halted by a nurse who had been scanning him with a tricorder. He coughed and shook his head, clearing it.

On the bed next to him, Jim's eyes snapped into focus and he jerked up, only to collapse back down when his muscles protested at the sudden movement after so long being still. He breathed heavily for a moment, then sat more slowly, looking around the bay groggily until he found Spock.

They looked at one another, then at the Vulcan elders who were now standing, waiting to see if the process had worked.

"Holy shit," Jim breathed.

"Indeed," Spock agreed.

There was silence for a moment before T'Pau asked, "You are whole?"

Jim nodded slowly. "Yea. I didn't think it was…" he glanced again at Spock, who immediately knew what he wanted and slid from his bed (he staggered for a moment, but Jim threw out an arm to steady him) and moved to press against Jim, who wrapped his arms around Spock's waist. Spock threaded his hand through Jim's hair, and they both relaxed at the touch.

"I didn't think we could do it there at the beginning," Jim continued. "I got lost, but…" he looked up at Spock, who gazed back down at him. "You found me."

"Yes," Spock murmured.

"The information?" Selow prompted, and Jim tore his eyes away from Spock and grinned dangerously.

"It's everything you never wanted to know about the Vehsins." His grin took on a more pronounced predatory glint. "Everything."

"It seems," Spock said, turning slightly to face the elders, but not letting go of his hold on Jim, "that the Vehsin use living beings as information storage, rather than computers. Jim has access to military secrets, plans, medical files, everything. It is no wonder the Vehsin were so upset when he was rescued."

"They are gonna be  _pissed_  when they find out I've got access to all this," Jim mused. His eyes glazed slightly, and Spock tightened his grip for a moment before relaxing. Jim was simply investigating their storage methods. He wanted to know that he could pull up any information he wanted at a moment's notice.

"This," Jim said, resurfacing, "is awesome." He suddenly yawned hugely. "But I'm exhausted. Spock—" he looked up, focusing intently on the Vulcan, and suddenly sucked in a breath. "Holy shit, Spock. I remember you, I've got everything, I'm back, I—" he cut himself off and dragged Spock down to kiss him.

Rationally, Spock knew that this was highly inappropriate—they were still in the presence of the elders, after all, but emotionally? He did not. give. a damn. He shuddered, pressing even closer to Jim, and let out a small noise of desire.

A quiet cough brought them out of their (physical) reunion, and Spock looked up to see T'Pau and Selow watching them benignly. Elder Spock, however, was smiling very slightly. "Perhaps you should return to your quarters for… rest," he offered, and both men nodded quickly.

Jim stood and dragged Spock to him, apparently unable to be more than a few centimeters from him at any given time. Spock did not mind, not at all.

"Thank you," Spock said, and Jim completed the sentence—"for everything. We don't know how to thank you enough." Spock nodded.

"We will speak again before you leave," T'Pau responded, and Spock thought he must have been seeing things, because he could have sworn he saw one corner of her mouth twitch up slightly. "Retire to your quarters," she concluded, and with another flurry of thanks, Jim and Spock practically ran from the room.

('')

Spock was barely able to palm the door open before Jim was attacking him, pressing hot kisses to his neck, his ears, his eyebrows, his lips. "Jim," Spock moaned, and Jim doubled his efforts, walking them toward the bed, pulling off their shirts, and collapsing them down on their sides. They kicked off their boots but then stilled, staring at one another.

"Hi," Jim whispered, the bond between them thrumming with his anticipation and nerves.

Spock crinkled his eyes and opened his mental shields wide, letting Jim feel his desire and happiness. "There is no need for worry," he whispered back reassuringly.

"I just can't believe this is happening. I can't believe it  _worked_ , and we… we finally get this," Jim mumbled, and slid his arm under Spock's neck, pulled him closer. "I'm whole," he sighed happily with some amazement, and reached up with his free hand to trace the lines of Spock's cheekbone up to his ear. "And there's no way in hell I'm leaving. We have a chance at happiness." He pressed a dry kiss to Spock's lips. "Never leaving you."

Spock slid his fingertips along Jim's hairline, and paused at the starburst scar on his temple. "No, you will not," he ordered softly. "I will not allow it again."

Jim looked down, feelings of guilt seeping through the bond. He chewed on his lip and took a breath. "I'm so sorry," he said, leaning in further and pressing his face against Spock's, speaking into his jaw.

Spock furrowed his brow and tried to reassure him. "You have nothing for which to be sorry." He tightened his grip around Jim's back for a moment.

Jim pulled back, searching Spock's eyes. "I left you alone. Spock, you—" he stopped himself and looked down, tracing the ragged scars on Spock's arms, on his chest. "You were hurt," he said softly.

Spock closed his eyes. "That was not your fault."

"I could've—"

"You could not have done anything," Spock said firmly. "It is highly likely that even had you not left the  _Enterprise_ that day, events would have unfolded in a similar manner. And currently, I am merely thankful that you have been returned to me. Countless others have not had such good fortune. It is illogical to berate yourself for events over which you had no control."

Jim smiled slightly. "I'm pretty damn illogical."

Spock raised an eyebrow. "Indeed," he muttered, and leaned in to kiss Jim again. This time, it quickly grew heated, and Jim rolled his head back, letting Spock suck a bruise into his neck. "I missed you," Spock whispered, almost too quiet to hear.

"I love you," Jim said in response, and rolled on top of Spock, who felt his sudden surge of desire through their bond. Jim slid down, getting his hands on Spock's fly, kissing a line down his chest, scraping his teeth gently over the trail of hair that disappeared into Spock's pants. Spock moaned and braced his hands on Jim's shoulders.

"I don't know if I'd have been so noble," Jim told Spock as he attempted to rip the Vulcan's trousers from his narrow hips. Spock had enough brain power to make a curious noise, and Jim growled, winning his fight with the buttons. He started to work the pants off, and clarified, "If I'd thought you were dead for three years and you miraculously reappeared, I'd have jumped you so fast you wouldn't have had time to blink."

"I remain the more reserved being in our relationship," Spock muttered, and Jim laughed, now stripping his own pants and boxers. The next instant, he was flush on top of Spock again, their bodies rubbing together deliciously. Spock didn't even bother with a semblance of control, and let his erection unsheathe immediately. He wanted Jim to know how badly he desired him.

"Oh, yes," Jim mumbled, "I missed this and didn't even know I missed it." He ran two fingers along Spock's length, gathering a small amount of his natural lubricant on his fingertips and then sucking them into his mouth. Spock's eyes widened and he whined out a lustful noise. Jim grinned. "You taste so sweet, Spock… could lick you forever…"

Spock, determined to give as good as he got, reached between them to grab Jim and thumbed his slit—a gesture practice had taught him was guaranteed to drive him wild. Jim responded by arching up and moaning— _so that has not changed_ , Spock thought smugly. Jim grabbed Spock's neck, forced their lips together, and Spock started a steady stroke, moving unhurriedly and slightly too slowly.

Jim pulled back, breathing heavily. "Mine," he growled, leaning in and nipping sharply at Spock's clavicle.

"Yours," Spock agreed, and sped up his strokes. Jim moaned again, but reached between them and removed Spock's hand, guiding it instead to Spock's own dick.

"In me," Jim muttered, and Spock wordlessly accepted this, loosely sliding his hand over his erection, slicking it with his essence. He flipped them effortlessly, pinning Jim to the bed with his hips and guiding Jim's hands above his head. He nudged Jim's thighs apart with his leg and then looped his free hand under Jim's knee, lifting it for easier access.

"Fucking hurry up," Jim panted, and Spock silenced him with a heated kiss, deep and filthy, a sharp nip to the lips as punctuation, and a twist of his fingers against the sensitive skin behind Jim's balls as an extra emphasis. When he pulled back, Jim was watching him with wide eyes.

"Jesus, where'd you learn  _that_? Should I be jealous?" he panted, his eyes blown.

Spock's smile was predatory. "I have had no other partners, merely many years of fantasies—in which I plan to fully indulge."

"Well, by all means, continue," Jim breathed, and Spock raised an eyebrow while simultaneously sliding a finger into Jim's willing body, reveling in Jim's immediate broken noises of pleasure.

"This is much more fucking intense than I remember," Jim said, his voice practically dripping with ecstasy, and Spock smiled again.

"The bond intensifies our physical reaction to one another in times of intimacy."

"Coulda told me that—uhgnn—before—" Jim mumbled, and Spock leaned down and licked a stripe along his neck, slid in another finger and started stretching.

"Prior knowledge would have taken the pleasure out of watching your face when you discovered this fact for yourself." He slid in another finger and crooked all three. Jim arched off the bed and swore.

"Goddamn it Spock, now now, come  _on_ ," he begged, and Spock withdrew his hand, readjusted Jim's leg, and slid in slowly.

Words failed them.

Spock moved at an agonizingly too slow pace at first, worried both that in his enthusiasm he may hurt Jim and that he himself would be overwhelmed (it had been a _very_  long time, after all). But Jim sent him a pointed thought—/ _I won't break_ / and Spock huffed in amusement and sped up. Sliding into Jim's tight, hot body had never been so immeasurably pleasing.

Jim bore down, wrapped both legs around Spock's waist, and pulled him down to for a kiss. But Spock's movements were restricted in this position and so he was soon released.

Spock gazed down at the man writhing underneath him—watched the place where they were joined, felt himself harden further, and slightly shifted his position. Jim moaned, arching up as Spock's dick rubbed against his prostate. "Holy fuck, touch me…"

"Yes," Spock murmured, and looped his still-slick fingers around Jim's steadily leaking cock, pumping in counterpoint with his thrusts. Jim started up a steady stream of nonsense words (mostly swearing, mixed with variations of 'oh yes' and ' _Spock_ ') and Spock smiled, rather impressed that either of them had as much stamina as they were exhibiting. He hadn't expected their first time back together to last half this long.

He felt Jim's distracted amusement at this thought ripple through the bond, and he reached out with his free hand to caress Jim's face, to trail through the sweat on Jim's chest… He snapped his hips, and Jim cried out in bliss, clawing at Spock's arms, then ran his fingers along his chest until he found an erect nipple to tweak.

"Ah, Jim,  _ashayam_ …" Spock moaned, and dropped down to kiss him again.

"Close," Jim managed to force out, and Spock suddenly realized that was too. He settled his fingers on Jim's face, asking permission through the bond and registering Jim's instantaneous assent.

They plunged even deeper, and the outside world ceased to exist. There was only them and their touch and  _pleasure_  and Jim was shining brightly and Spock wanted nothing more than to touch him and never let him go.

 _/never let go/_ Jim echoed, and together they rose to a height they had never before experienced and it was almost unbearable, yet the most perfect thing of all of either of their existences. They gasped in unison and crashed over the edge, unbelievably, perfectly together.

Spock pulled back and pressed a gentle kiss to Jim's (already exhausted) face. "We must…" he started to mumble, but then yawned.

"Sleep," Jim finished for him, and Spock nodded, using an edge of a blanket to half-heartedly wipe away the worst of their mess. By the time he dropped the sheet, Jim was already asleep, and Spock followed him seconds later.

('')

Spock resurfaced to Jim staring down at him, a small smile on his face.

"Hello," Jim said, and leaned down and kissed him. Spock allowed him to deepen the kiss briefly, but pulled back after a moment, aware that they were unpleasantly filthy and desperately in need of a shower. Or at least a wet washcloth.

Jim laughed softly when he caught this thought. "Fastidious as always," he said, giggling.

Spock raised an eyebrow. "Becoming stuck together has never been particularly pleasing to you, either."

"No," Jim agreed, and rolled off the bed to find a towel. After a moment of rummaging in the bathroom, he reemerged, wiping himself down, and then offered the wet cloth to Spock, who took it gratefully.

Spock glanced at the chronometer—they'd slept for almost ten hours, but he was still tired. He found he was unable to hold back a yawn, and blearily took stock of his body—he needed food, and doubtlessly Jim needed sustenance even more. They were both mildly dehydrated as well, though a sore spot on his arm meant that they had been injected with something while in the medical bay—likely a rehydrating hypo.

He decided that it would be acceptable to lie here with Jim for a bit longer. Food could wait. He held out an arm to draw his Human back into bed, and Jim smiled.

Jim flopped down and maneuvered Spock onto his back before burrowing into the Vulcan's shoulder. He splayed his hand across Spock's abdomen, resting his fingers where he could feel the steady thump of his heart and threw one of his legs over Spock's thighs, effectively pinning him to the bed. Then he pressed a kiss onto Spock's neck and sighed.

"Jim?" Spock asked, slightly confused by the man's unusual clinginess. Not that he minded—but it was unusual. Previous experience with Jim had taught Spock that simply pressing against one another's sides—with the possible addition of hand-holding—was the norm.

Catching his thoughts, Jim shook his head slightly and said, "You've changed, you know. It's a little…" he trailed off, and Spock read his uncertainty through their bond.

Ah. Spock shifted so he could meet Jim's gaze. "I have," he said. "Though I had assumed you would be accustomed to my behavioral differences by this point."

"Well, yea… I'm used to how you act," Jim said, rolling his eyes slightly. "but I didn't have anything to compare it to before. And it's not  _bad_ , it's just kinda weird. You being all smiley and whatnot." He punctuated his statement with a soft kiss, and the corners of Spock's mouth turned up. Jim continued: "Openly worrying about stuff. Getting pissed off at Stonn… or at me…"

"My lack of control over my emotions becomes heightened in your presence, Jim," Spock told him dryly, and Jim grinned.

"I drive you crazy," he purred, a hint of mischief in his eyes.

"Always," Spock deadpanned, and Jim laughed.

"So," he said, changing the subject, "We need to shower and  _you_  need to cut my hair."

Spock sat up slightly at this, dislodging a protesting Jim. "I have become accustomed to your hair," he objected. "It is pleasing to play with." He leaned in and spoke lowly into Jim's ear. "And it provides a most useful handhold." When he pulled back, Jim's eyes had darkened.

"Maybe we can leave it for a little bit longer, then…" he growled, and rolled on top of Spock.

Their shower and Jim's haircut were delayed.

('')

Jim was sitting cross-legged on the floor with Spock kneeling behind him, cleaning up Jim's new haircut (by mutual agreement left slightly longer than it had been on the  _Enterprise_ ) when the door's chime sounded.

"Enter," he called, and it slid open to reveal a particularly blank-looking Stonn.

"Hey Stonn," Jim said amicably, though Spock caught a surge of dislike through their bond. He silently reprimanded Jim, reminding him that a) Stonn had had nothing to do with T'Pring's actions all those years ago and b) Stonn had actually been quite useful to them thus far, bordering now on friendly. Jim sent him back a mental equivalent of a snort, and Spock rolled his eyes.

"Spock, Jim," Stonn greeted them. "Your good health and bonding are to be celebrated." They nodded, accepting this, but Stonn looked quite possibly the opposite of pleased for them.

"Something is amiss?" Spock asked, and felt a sinking in his stomach.

Stonn nodded. "We have received a transmission from Earth. The news is… unfortunate. You should come."

The men stood in unison, both instantly on high alert. They followed Stonn from their quarters and down the corridor toward what appeared to be a video conference room. He quickly pressed a few buttons and a still screen of Sybok appeared on the monitor.

"Fuck," Jim breathed. Sybok had blood (of both the green and black varieties) dripping down his face, and he appeared to have a phaser burn to the upper arm. Behind him, they could see that the communications room was in shambles—wires were hanging from the ceiling and several computer panels were on fire.

Stonn turned the transmission on, and Sybok's face jumped to life. He was breathing heavily, and his eyes kept darting away from the screen, likely toward a door.

"This is a prerecorded warning to any ships attempting to seek safe harbor on Earth. We have been overrun—a surprise attack on our base. Do not attempt to land, any messages received from Earth are a trap." He paused, lifted his arm with a wince, and fired a phaser at something off-screen. He smirked in a self-satisfied way and turned back to the monitor.

"Spock, if you get this—meet with the Admiral and the rest of our crew in that one place… you know." He grinned manically. "Tell Nyota I love her, and Jim! Take care of my baby brother." There was a commotion off-screen, and Sybok swore, raised his phaser again and began firing in a steady stream. "Don't come for me," he ordered to the monitor, and he was suddenly tackled from the side.

The transmission turned to static. Spock closed his eyes and hung his head.

"If we had not left them there…" he muttered, and Jim rubbed a circle in his back.

"It sounded like they got at least Pike out," he offered lamely, and Spock raised his head to glare at him. Jim gave him a Look. "Oh, shut up, Spock. Let's get back to the  _Yeht-gav_  so we can go rescue your brother."

Spock nodded slowly, and Stonn raised an eyebrow.

('')

Sybok was shoved face first into a holding cell, and with his hands tied behind his back, he was unable to stop his fall. He felt his nose break, and grunted through the rush of blood.

Of all the indignities, he realized he was being held in a cell that he himself had helped build when their base was under construction. He sighed and rolled over, cringing when his raw back encountered a jagged edge of the wall. From the far end of the cell, he heard a snort, and he glanced up, immediately on alert.

A Vehsin was staring at him, and if Sybok wasn't mistaken, the bastardly alien looked almost worse-off than he was.

"The flying fuck?" he muttered, (a favorite curse of Scotty's that Sybok had appropriated) and the Vehsin snorted again. Then it rose to its feet and walked toward him. Sybok let out a noise of protest, tried to wriggle backward, but instead only succeeded in making his nose bleed more.

"Oh, stop," the Vehsin buzzed in Standard. "I'm not going to hurt you. I'm a prisoner, too. Or are you too dense to see that, Vulcan?" It leaned down and deftly snipped the tie binding Sybok's hands together with a sharp click. It was careful not to touch him.

Sybok sat up, rubbing his wrists, utterly at a loss for words. He had no idea how to react in this situation, and based on what a clusterfuck this week had become, he felt that perhaps staying silent and letting the Vehsin talk was the best option.

The Vehsin studied him. "So you're a rebel…" it said suddenly, conversationally.

Sybok blinked. "Yes," he confirmed.

"How exciting," the Vehsin said dryly. "How did you like the surprise attack?"

Sybok narrowed his eyes. "It was… unpleasant. You know, with all the death and torture. And whatnot."

The Vehsin rolled a shoulder, wincing. Sybok realized it had several freshly bloodied strips down its back and arms. It obviously had been recently tortured. He felt even more confused.

"I heard a good number of you got away," the Vehsin continued.

"Most did, yes." Sybok agreed. Perhaps this Vehsin had been placed in his cell as a means to extract more information from him. Its presence was perhaps intended to play on his pity? If that was the case, however, it was doing a pretty poor job—it hadn't asked him a single thing the other Vehsins didn't already know.

"Good," the Vehsin said, and Sybok caught more than a hint of bitterness in its voice, only adding to the utter surrealism of this situation. It continued: "So why did you get caught?"

"I was sending a message," Sybok told it. "Letting others know not to fly into a trap." His captors already knew this—he'd been caught at the communications array, after all. He changed the subject. "What are you doing here?"

The Vehsin briefly bared its teeth and scraped its mandibles, an expression Sybok had come to learn meant that it was furious, but then it schooled its expression into something more bland. "If you mean prison in general, I've been framed for the murder of two princesses. I'm being held until my execution." It flashed him a smile. Sybok was incalculably disconcerted by this, but before he could react, it continued. "If you mean this cell in particular, it is likely my brothers have placed us together in an attempt to get us to kill one another and save them the trouble."

Sybok started. The Vehsin had used a gender-specific term when describing other Vehsins. His mind almost short-circuited when he suddenly realized the possibilities.

The rebellion knew next to nothing about the Vehsin race. Yes, they knew that there were soldiers, and that there were commanders, but that was the extent of their understanding of military tactics. Captive Vehsins tended to die quickly, even when they were being held in ideal conditions. Hell, even after several dissections of their bodies, rebellion doctors couldn't even tell what gender they were. Or if they  _had_  a gender. They didn't know how their telepathy worked, how they got orders—even plans were hard to come by, usually only appearing when the Vehsin were using (read: enslaving) other species to do the thinking for them.

If this Vehsin was disillusioned, Sybok could not pass up the opportunity to get it to talk. The information it knew was… could be, at least, priceless. Of course, this also hinged on his ability to escape his current situation, but he could work on that later. He was one of the most wanted war criminals of the Vehsin Empire—he wouldn't be executed quickly.

So. "What's your name?" Sybok asked.

"I am Second Commander Bhaan," it said. "And you are Sybok, son of Sarek, brother of Spock. It is… well, perhaps not a pleasure. But… intriguing to meet you, none the less."

Sybok stared at it. "How…?"

Bhaan buzzed out a noise that may have been a laugh. "I am a  _Second_ _Commander_  in the Vehsin war machine, and you are one of our most wanted fugitives. I know your face."

"Ah," Sybok agreed. "So…"

The Vehsin sighed and sank down along the far wall. "It is an odd situation I find myself in. I  _should_  desire to clear my name and, by extension, destroy you." Sybok winced, and Bhaan waved a claw dismissively. "But I find that I am disillusioned. I find that… I wish to destroy the Princess, instead." It hung its head, and Sybok watched with amazement. "I am the traitor they have painted me as. I deserve my fate," Bhaan finished miserably.

"No…" Sybok said hesitantly. In what ridiculous alternative universe was he actually considering  _consoling_  a Vehsin? But apparently… "You've been betrayed," he continued. "It's natural? To feel angry, I suppose."

Bhaan glanced up at him, black eyes unreadable. "Yes," it said, and Sybok nodded. They fell into a contemplative silence that was eventually broken by Sybok whimpering when he cracked his nose back into place.

"So," Sybok said nasally through the fresh stream of blood he was now attempting to slow, "what do you think our chances are of breaking out of here?"

Bhaan stared at him. "I was under the assumption that Vulcans were a realistic people."

Sybok grinned. "I've never been a perfect example of Vulcan decorum. They don't even consider me one of the species, you know."

"You do show a surprising amount of facial expressions for one of your race," Bhaan observed. "I have never seen one of you so expressive."

"I'm a rarity," Sybok shrugged, then winced when this movement pulled at the now drying blood on his back. "Like you," he added hesitantly.

Bhaan snorted. "You are wondering about what information I can give you about my species." It said suddenly, and Sybok cringed. He'd been planning on working up to that topic, and having it out in the open so suddenly was disconcerting. But still, since it was out there…

"Yes," he admitted, attempting to square his shoulders. "Your information could prove invaluable." He contemplated for a moment. "How did you know that I was thinking that?" He paled. "Your telepathy is stronger than we thought, isn't it, fuck…"

Bhaan laughed again. "No. I believe you have accurately assessed my people's telepathic range. But if I were a rebel presented with a disillusioned member of the opposing force, that is the direction my own thoughts would turn."

Sybok relaxed slightly, and against the far wall, Bhaan seemed to be having an internal debate. Finally, it looked up and fixed Sybok to the wall with an intense look. "I will tell you everything I know about my people, provided you do one thing for me."

"What…?" Sybok asked with trepidation.

"You must help me attempt to kill the Princess," Bhaan buzzed, its voice dropping down an octave, poison dripping from its words.

Not believing his luck, Sybok nodded slowly. "That sounds… just fine."

('')

Sybok awoke the next morning half-believing that yesterday's conversation with Bhaan had been a dream, but when he opened his eyes it was to the Vehsin calmly ignoring him and ripping its tunic into long strips.

"Good, you're awake," it said suddenly, and Sybok jumped. "Please help me bandage my leg," it continued. "I cannot seem to get the bleeding to stop, I'm not strong enough to tighten the bandage from this angle and…" it trailed off. Sybok shakily stood (his many wounds protesting) and shuffled slightly toward the alien, only to cringe backward when it turned to him.

Bhaan sighed. "I know it's difficult for you to believe, but I have no interest in harming you. We are both far more likely to survive this if we work together." Its eyes shifted focus to a particularly deep slice across Sybok’s chest. "I'll bandage you as well." It held out a strip of cloth. "Please."

Sybok stood silently for a moment longer, steeling himself to come into close contact with the Vehsin, and then moved closer, kneeling down and carefully (and tightly) wrapping up a nasty-looking gash down Bhaan's leg, studiously avoiding even the smallest brush of skin contact. The last thing he needed was a Vehsin-induced headache.

The Vehsin sighed in obvious relief, even though the cloth was already starting to show spots of black blood.

Sybok stood and retreated. "I don't need a bandage. I heal quickly." Bhaan shrugged and wrapped another section of cloth around its wrist, where it was gouged deeply, undoubtedly from handcuffs. Sybok was momentarily fascinated by watching its claws work—they were quadruple jointed, and though Bhaan only had three sharp 'fingers' at the end of each hand, it appeared that the alien was extremely dexterous.

"So tell me about your people," Sybok said bluntly, wanting to speed up the process of information gathering. It was entirely possible that their captors may change their minds and execute Bhaan (or himself, but he still thought that unlikely) at any given moment. Sybok wanted as much information as possible before then.

Bhaan gave him a sidelong look, but started talking almost immediately.

"Vehsin families are comprised of five levels."

"Families?" Sybok interrupted, and Bhaan shot him an annoyed look and clicked its mandibles impatiently. Sybok was almost glad for this—the Vehsin's openness was unnerving, and it was comforting, in a way, to know that it still didn't have the most favorable opinion of him.

"I will explain," Bhaan said tightly. "Allow me to speak."

"Sorry," Sybok muttered, and Bhaan went back to bandaging.

"Five levels," Bhaan repeated. "The first level is comprised entirely of the queen and her daughters. The queen mother births all within our clan." Bhaan paused and thought for a moment. "My family is the Xthz clan. My queen mother left our homeworld to expand into this quadrant when she challenged her sister for the rule of our section of the planet and was bested, and as a result, exiled."

Sybok was listening, fascinated. "So," he said slowly, "your entire army is all your brothers and sisters?"

"My brothers," Bhaan corrected. "With the exception of the queen and princesses, all Vehsins are male."

"That's…" Sybok wrapped his mind around this—well, after all, the Vehsins were very insectoid in appearance, so this shouldn't be such a shock. "Go on?"

Bhaan had apparently finished with its— _his_ , Sybok corrected himself—clumsy first aide, and had settled against the far wall again.

"The first level is the queen and princesses," he repeated. "My queen mother has—or rather,  _had_ , five daughters. The third princess, Penna, murdered the two elder princesses and framed me for the slayings." He paused and glanced at Sybok, clearing debating over whether or not to tell him something. Finally, he said "Birth order does not guarantee right to the throne. The princess highest in our mother's favor is given the right to rule when the queen dies, but the elder princesses are stronger than the younger ones.

"Penna likely killed Areth and Noora because that would put her in the easiest position to fulfill the queen mother's orders, and therefore put her in the highest favor."

"What were the queen's orders?" Sybok asked curiously, and Bhaan again hesitated.

"The queen mother has ordered that the top priority of the Vehsin empire is to find James Kirk," he said slowly. Sybok blanched.

"All this is because of Jim?" he asked incredulously, gesturing widely to the cell, though he clearly meant the entire attack on the rebel base.

Bhaan waved his antennae in an uncertain way. "It's likely you would have been attacked eventually, but the reason your base was attacked  _now_  is indeed because of Kirk."

"Great," Sybok grumbled. He glared at the floor for a minute, then sighed and looked up. "Well, there's nothing I can do about that right now, so go on. What about the other two princesses?”

Bhaan glanced at the ceiling. “They are irrelevant.”

“I don’t think—”

“Irrelevant,” Bhaan snapped, and glared a challenge in Sybok’s direction. Reluctantly, Sybok dropped it.

“Fine, fine. What's the next level?"

"Second level," Bhaan said quickly, clearly relieved to be changing the subject, "is comprised of the commanders of the fleet. I am second level. We… think for ourselves, are generally intelligent, and can be trusted to take a vague order and interpret it in a way that will usually result in victory in a battle situation. There are perhaps five hundred second level males in my clan, divided into three sections of our own. As a second commander, I am at the highest level of these subdivisions.

"Third level males have varying degrees of intelligence. A few can be trusted to pilot ships, or to interpret orders, but most are…" he paused, searching for the word. "Stupid," he finally settled on. "They are stronger than males in the other levels, and are used for our infantry, as guards, anything physical. They are the greatest in number—there are millions of them.

"Fourth and fifth level males are mindless drones. We use them as slaves—the fourth level males perform more complex tasks, such as cooking or routine repairs. The fifth level males provide all unskilled labor. Both levels follow whatever orders they are given. There are a several thousand of them within each level.

"We are all telepathically linked, by varying degrees, to the queen mother. The princesses' and second level males' links are not very strong. We are… aware… that mother is alive, and would feel it if she were killed or died naturally, but we would not be harmed by the severing of our connection. The third level males are more strongly linked to her—she can look through their eyes to see what they see, and occasionally she does so during battles and attacks. Most would die when she does, though it would likely be a… wasting away. Fourth and fifth level males are entirely tied to her—they cannot function without her orders or attention. They would die instantly with her."

"Why would you have a race that dies with the queen?" Sybok asked, curious.

Bhaan shrugged. "It clears the way for the princess who takes over. She will use the second and remaining third level males to maintain order while she births a new army. Once that is completed, she will kill her remaining brothers, with the exception of the half dozen she's chosen to mate with. It provides more stability to her rule to have an army of her children, rather than her siblings."

"Huh," Sybok muttered. "Seems needlessly cruel."

"It is how we function," Bhaan said, a hint of ice in his grating voice.

Sybok looked down, mildly abashed. "Sorry," he said. "I didn't mean to offend."

Bhaan nodded stiffly, then launched into a detailed explanation of Vehsin telepathic abilities. Sybok was pleased to realize that the rebellion knew more about this subject than he'd originally thought.

They ended up talking for hours—Sybok even eventually trading information about Vulcan culture after Bhaan had explained that he hadn't ever even stepped foot in a reprogramming center, and as a result, didn't know much about Vulcans.

Sybok was in the middle of describing a bonding ceremony (the thought of monogamous partners seemed to give Bhaan a hopeful air that Sybok couldn’t immediately explain) when they heard the lock on the cell door rattle.

They both instantly pressed against the far wall, adopting defensive stances (Bhaan flared out a set of vestigial wings that looked sharp and dangerous, and that Sybok had never seen extended on any Vehsin before) and Sybok lowered his stance, preparing to rush whoever entered the cell. The door swung open and four large ( _third level males_ , Sybok's brain supplied) Vehsins entered, each carrying the short metallic rod. One stood back and kept an eye on Bhaan, while the other three closed in on Sybok.

He had just enough time to swear before three rods hit his neck, chest, and side simultaneously, and he blacked out.


	11. Rescue

Spock was staring out the window of one of the Vulcan ship's many recreation rooms, watching the stars stream past, silently and calmly obsessing over how two men might be able to break into a heavily fortified base to rescue a third. And over whether or not this rescue attempt was ill-advised, as they had no concrete evidence that Sybok was even still alive.

The Vulcans were currently pushing their engines to warp six to take Jim and Spock back to the  _Yeht-gav_ , where they would be dropped off and could start their own journey back toward civilization.

Spock closed his eyes, mentally recalculating for the hundredth time today. It would take one month, three weeks, five days, and nine hours to reach Earth orbit once he was back at the helm of his ship, if he pushed his engines and used every ounce of dilithium left to him. Provided of course that nothing went amiss, or broke, that they had an uninterrupted flight, and he kept the ship heated only enough so he and Jim would not freeze. He wished Scotty was aboard—he felt much better about pushing his engines to the limit when they were being watched over by the scrupulous engineer.

He breathed out slowly, trying to center himself. Logically, he knew that Sybok was too big of a prize for the Vehsins to simply kill. They would attempt to reprogram him, meaning Spock had a rough timeline of at least a month before Sybok may be harmed too badly, and perhaps three months before it became likely that he was broken beyond repair. He told himself again that they would arrive with ample time to locate and free his brother—yet he still was illogically wishing the colony ship would just fly  _faster_.

Jim had been Spock's only support in this ordeal thus far, entirely accepting that they would disregard Sybok's request that he not be rescued. In contrast, the Vulcans were acting as if Spock had lost his mind—he had been told more times than he could count (actually, that was untrue—he'd been told seventy-four times, by everyone from Stonn to a six-year-old child) that his rash decision to fly into a known trap was illogical. As a matter of fact, Stonn had told him as much on five separate occasions.

The issue—though it wasn't  _really_  an issue, because Spock was still going to Earth—was that Spock agreed with them. Earth was dangerous—that much was exceedingly obvious. Sybok had specifically instructed that no rescue attempt be made, and he had apparently sent the rest of the base's inhabitants on without him. So his retrieval would involve no hope of backup, and they were likely looking at facing overwhelming numbers of hostiles.

But (almost two years ago, now) being reunited with Sybok after experiencing so much pain had been a turning point in Spock's life—a reminder that there was more to the world than misery.

Illogical as it was, Spock could not abandon his brother.

Spock tore his eyes away from the window and turned to look at Jim, who was sitting stiffly on one of the hard chairs favored by the Vulcans. Jim's eyes were open but unseeing. They flickered slightly, tracking information Spock could not see, and Jim was making small gestures with his hands, manipulating and skimming files that existed only in his mind. Their bond was silent—Spock had blocked it from his end. The Vehsin information had an unpleasant oily feel that made him nauseous, so Spock was careful to keep the bond closed off when Jim was accessing it.

It had taken the better part of two days for Jim to master the storage system he and Spock had set up to contain the implanted Vehsin information. Plus, it seemed that he was still somehow connected to the 'network' of enslaved beings used for information storage, so he was constantly receiving new and more up-to-date data, though it seemed that the current data was flowing into designated areas on its own.

As Spock watched, Jim blinked, surfacing. "I figured it out," he said excitedly, leaning forward in his chair, and Spock raised an eyebrow.

"To what are you referring?"

"Why I'm still getting data," Jim said impatiently. He waved his hand grandly. "The Vehsins are idiots."

"I fear that statement is overly simplistic," Spock stated, and Jim grinned at him.

"No, really. Ok, so there's a network. I can't see  _who_  the people like me are, or specifically  _where_  they are, but I can tell that there're twenty-seven of us. And we're all connected by something they did to us when we were captured, some surgery they did."

Spock furrowed his brow in concern, but Jim waved his hand dismissively. "No, it's fine. You remember that weird scarring Bones found in my brain?" Spock nodded slowly, and Jim continued. "It's in a specific pattern, and it altered the way my brain processes certain types of information. I'm pretty sure—I didn't get as in depth as I could, I'm not a doctor, so it didn't really make 100% sense—but I'm pretty sure it made me telepathically…" he searched for the word. "In tune? Sure, that works. Telepathically in tune with the other people they've done this to."

"To what end?" Spock mused, and Jim smiled again.

"That's the stupid thing. They're  _lazy,_  and telepathic communication is instantaneous. They didn't want to wait for transmissions. Remember how frustrating it was if we were caught in an ion storm or something and couldn't get messages from Starfleet? This way, they never have communications breakdowns. We’re their computer processors.

"And since they're telepathic too, if they send information back and forth between their captives, all they have to do is touch us and get up-to-date _everything_ to do with the Empire. I mean, troop movements, weapon developments, duty rosters, everything. It's all in here." He tapped his forehead.

Spock cocked his head. "I fail to see…"

Jim caught his confusion through their (newly reopened) bond. "They moved me around. Thern IV was just the latest in a  _long_  series of prisons, you know. I think I served as a communications array for wherever they needed me. So on Thern, I'd be researching, and at the end of the day one of them would hold onto my head. I had no idea what they were doing at that point, of course, but  _now_  I know. They were uploading my latest findings to the rest of the network.

"And sometimes they would grab me and again, hold onto my head—really, I just thought it was a weird torture thing, it always gave me a pounding headache—and after a minute let me go back to whatever I was doing. They were probably receiving orders or something."

"And you are still receiving these 'updates' on a regular basis?" Spock asked, disbelief mixing with worry in his voice.

"Yea," Jim told him. "They don't think I have access to the information. If it was behind the block like it was supposed to be, the only people that could access it would be Vehsins. They don't believe I'll be able to break the block."

Spock raised an eyebrow, aware Jim wasn't telling him the whole truth. Jim rolled his eyes.

"Fine. They think we  _might_  be able to break the block, but that it's unlikely. But they still want to find me and put me back under their control. Safer that way for them."

"Indeed," Spock said dryly. He was aware that Jim was still understating the seriousness of the situation, but he could read between the lines. It was likely that Jim (and by default, himself) had jumped to the very top of the Vehsin's most wanted list.

"Why did they block your memories as well as their own information?" he asked Jim after a moment of consideration.

Jim smiled again, rose, and walked to Spock, loosely wrapping his arms around the Vulcan's waist. "Cause I'm James fucking Kirk," he said smugly, "and I'm a professional badass. I think the only reason they did the telepathic procedure to me was because I was the first prisoner they took, and they needed to be able to communicate. And they added the telepathic thing before they blocked my memories. They got annoyed with me a couple days in and took away my memory with another surgery to make me more docile."

Spock raised an eyebrow incredulously.

"Of course it didn't work," Jim added with a wide smile. "I continued to be a pain in their asses, and upped my level of professional badassery. And I wasn't indispensible—they were planning on executing me, remember? Apparently you can only attempt to incite so many rebellions before they get fed up with you."

Spock slid his hands to Jim's hips. "I was unaware that 'badass' was a profession," he said coolly, and Jim smirked.

"You're a professional smartass," he muttered, and leaned forward to kiss Spock lightly on the lips.

"Why do they not use their own people as their computers?" Spock asked into Jim's mouth, enjoying their touch and unwilling to pull away to ask his question. Jim tensed minutely. Spock leaned back, immediately alarmed. "Jim," he said with a hint of reproach. "Do not hide this from me."

"No," Jim said, looking down. He tightened his grip around Spock's waist. "It's…" he licked his lips, and Spock resisted the urge to simply ascertain the knowledge through the bond. But he wanted Jim to tell him himself.

"It burns us out," Jim said softly. "There was another guy at one of the labor camps I was at for awhile… they did the same thing to him that they did to me. And one day, while one of the Vehsins was uploading whatever he had…" he sighed, and Spock bit his tongue in an effort to remain silent. Jim continued after a minute: "It's harder now that I have the context. I know what actually happened to him." He looked up at Spock. "He died. He, uh. Overloaded, I guess is the right word. It was…" he seemed unwilling to speak, and Spock gave him a mental nudge.

He immediately wished he had not. Through the bond, Jim sent him a brief flash of an older Orion man in a prison jumpsuit seizing on the ground, blood dripping steadily from his ears, nose, and even seeping from his eyes. Spock felt sick, and gripped Jim tightly in his arms, pulled Jim's head to his neck.

Jim made a startled noise and projected  _/can't breathe, Spock_ / to the Vulcan, who reluctantly loosened his grip.

"There is no way to turn off the flow of information?" he asked, and Jim slowly shook his head.

"I can't find one. But I'm… I'm healthy now, Spock, and I'm a lot younger than that Orion. I don't think I'm at as much of a risk."

"It remains a large threat," Spock countered, and Jim gave him an unreadable look.

"It's not our biggest problem," he said softly, and pulled Spock over to a bench, guiding them to sit. "Honestly, Spock, tell me. As rebellion fighters, living the kind of life we do—what are our odds of surviving to old age?"

Spock blinked. "Define 'old age,'" he hedged, and Jim smiled slightly at him.

"How about… early one hundreds for me and two hundreds for you," he said.

Spock spoke flatly. "Given our current lifestyle, diet, and the situation in which we find ourselves, the odds of you surviving into your tenth decade become approximately twenty percent. I cannot be more specific, as the parameters regarding your affliction are ill-defined. My own survival into my second century lowers to closer to seven percent, though I am taking into account my hybrid genetic makeup and how that increases mitigating factors—"

Jim covered his mouth with a warm hand. "You're babbling, Spock. And I know you don't wanna think about it. It's uncomfortable. But I'm making a point. We live a dangerous life. Having a problem with my brain just… adds another level to it." He removed his hand, leaned forward, and kissed Spock again. "It's ok."

Spock closed his eyes. "No, it is not. However, we will continue… performing to the best of our abilities."

"Yea," Jim nodded. "Yea. We will."

('')

Spock had  _finally_  been able to calm his mind enough to effectively meditate. He breathed deeply, inhaling the incense's scent of the desert, and tipped his head back. He felt the tension begin to drain from his body, thoughts of Sybok and prisons and war plans and Jim's broken brain swirling into appropriate places. He breathed out, opened his mouth to begin a quiet chant—and the door chimed.

His eyes flicked open and he looked at the door, clicking his teeth together in annoyance. His calm was lost. The door chimed again, and he sighed. "I should not bother," he mumbled to himself, but rose none the less and went to disengage the lock.

The door opened to reveal elder Spock and Stonn. Elder Spock looked vaguely pleased but Stonn appeared quite possibly more disgruntled than Spock had ever seen him.

"We come with news," Stonn said stiffly in Vulcan, and Spock raised an eyebrow. Thus far, the only language that had been spoken around either Jim or himself had been Standard—likely to make them feel more at ease. Stonn obviously was distracted if he forgot which language to speak.

Spock let out a breath and stepped backward. "Please enter," he said, (likewise in Vulcan, willing to play along) gesturing them in, and they did. Stonn sat at the desk, and elder Spock wandered over to the window to peer out at the passing stars.

"There have been several developments of late," Stonn said, and Spock blinked in surprise as Stonn rolled his neck, cracking it. He shot a questioning look at elder Spock, who merely raised an eyebrow in response.  _Like watching an aged mirror_ , Spock thought, mildly discomforted as always when he was reminded that this man was an elder version of himself.

"I am feeling the first of the effects of  _pon farr_ ," Stonn told him, and Spock nodded slowly and carefully kept his face blank. Stonn continued: "I have begun to take several experimental drugs that have had positive results in delaying the process."

"That is… fortunate…" Spock said softly, and Stonn nodded slightly.

From the corner of the room, elder Spock spoke. "Stonn wishes to go with you and Jim to Earth." Spock looked at him in confusion.

"We are…" he looked back to Stonn. “Our chances of survival are… low. You wish to join us? You have said yourself that our plan to rescue my brother is illogical."

"If I wish to survive my time, I have no other choice," Stonn said bitterly.

Spock hesitated. "I cannot in good faith allow you on my ship with the possibility that you may enter  _plak tow_ ," he said slowly, and from the corner, elder Spock spoke up again.

"That brings us to our next item of news. It has been decided that you will be gifted enough dilithium that you will be able to fully utilize your ship's speed. With the medicine Stonn is currently taking and your journey time cut in half, there should be no issues with him entering  _plak tow_  prematurely."

Spock was unsure how to respond for a moment, but suddenly realized that perhaps Jim should be here for this conversation. He used the pause in conversation to call to him through the bond and felt Jim's attention immediately snap to him.

_/I thought you were meditating/_

_/Stonn and elder Spock have come to see us. you should speak with them as well/_

_/be there in a minute/_

"I… thank you for this gift," he finally said to elder Spock, who nodded, pleased.

"The medicine will delay  _plak tow_  by at most two months," Stonn said. "This should give us ample time to reach earth. Once there, I will cease administering the medicine and engage in combat to cool my blood, as it is unlikely there will be an opportunity to find a suitable mate."

"Your plan is most logical," Spock responded slowly, thinking. He could find no holes in this course of action, provided of course that the medicine worked as it was intended. "So you are welcome aboard. But you must be aware that we are planning on flying into what is likely a no-win situation. I cannot be responsible for your safety."

While he was speaking, the room's door slid open and Jim wandered though. He walked to Spock, silently expressing his regret that Spock had been unable to meditate, and dropped a kiss to the top of his head.

"I thought you'd agreed with me that there is no such thing as a no-win situation," he teased gently aloud, then plopped down on the bed and smiled at their visitors. Spock silently communicated everything that had been said in Jim's absence.

Jim nodded, then leaned forward and put his hands on his knees. "You're sure the drug'll work to keep you out of danger? And by that I mean no danger to all parties involved. I remember what it was like to fight with a blood-feverish Vulcan, and I don't want to do that again."

Spock flushed, and Stonn looked at the ground.

"I again apologize for my part in Spock's distress during his time…" Stonn started to say, catching himself and switching to Standard, but Jim held up a hand to wave him off.

"It's fine, we've moved past that. I just don't want us to be in the path of the tornado if all hell breaks loose."

Stonn took a moment to parse the human phrases, and then nodded. "I will be fully under control at all times," he promised.

"That it's fine with me," Jim answered, glancing at Spock. "And thank you for the extra dilithium," he added, addressing both men. "The faster we can get to Earth, the better."

Spock nodded, still not entirely convinced that this was a good idea, but it was enough for Stonn and elder Spock. They rose and excused themselves—Stonn also telling them that the Vulcan ship would arrive within transporter range of the  _Yeht-gav_  within five point one hours.

"I will meet you in the transporter room at that time," he said. Jim smiled at him and clapped him on the back (Stonn looked greatly affronted) and Spock simply nodded.

"I will see you off," added elder Spock. "Perhaps rest and sustenance are in order for the remaining hours you have aboard the ship."

Jim grinned dangerously. "Rest, right," he said laughing, and Spock rolled his eyes.

"We will see you in five hours," he said, and Stonn and elder Spock left.

The second the door swished shut, Jim bounced up and wrapped his arms tightly around Spock, who huffed and wiggled in his grasp.

"You said," Jim spoke into a perfectly pointed ear, "that anyone who wanted to come with us was welcome. I didn't think  _any_  of the Vulcans were going to come, but hey, we can help Stonn save himself. This is good, yea?"

"He may become dangerous, Jim," Spock argued half-heartedly. Honestly, it was quite a good plan. And it was true, Stonn would die unless he took drastic action.

"Who would totally have a chance at life on this…" Jim dropped his hold on Spock and waved his arms, gesturing to the ship around them, "…this death ship?"

"No," Spock conceded. "And if we were flying to a nearby friendly base, I would not be arguing this point with you. But we are headed on a lengthy rescue mission—not a social call. And the medicine to which Stonn was referring is merely experimental. He may lose control regardless."

"Yea," Jim said, dropping his arms and looking down. "I know. But we gotta try, yea? Stonn's a bit of a jerk, but I want to try. I just want to help…" He fell back down on the bed and glared at the ceiling. Spock sat next to him and slowly dragged his hand through Jim's hair.

"I also desire to help, but our current plan of action is…"

"Risky," Jim finished for him. "I know. There's no other choice, though." He thought for a moment, then asked, "How long will it take to get to Earth with not having to worry about fuel consumption?"

Spock calculated quickly. "By flying at the maximum speed of warp eight point seven, we will be able to reach Earth's system in… three weeks, six days, nineteen hours."

"Well that's good," Jim said with a hint of surprise. He looked up at Spock from his position on the bed. "We'll be able to rescue Sybok, and Stonn will kick the shit out of some Vehsins and cool his blood, and then we'll go to 'that one place' and meet up with everybody. Where is 'that one place' again?"

Spock smiled slightly. "I believe Sybok was referring to the badlands near Bajor. They have been a refuge for several different resistances."

"Fancy," Jim said, and stretched. "Do you want me to go? You could try to meditate again."

Spock made a soft noise of disagreement and leaned down, sliding his fingers from Jim's hair to his face, then down to his chest, then lower to the small sliver of skin that was showing at the gap between his shirt and pants. He pushed the shirt up a little higher and splayed his fingers over Jim's lower stomach.

Jim glanced at him, a rather lecherous smile growing on his face. "How long do we have before we're at the ship again?"

"Five hours," Spock told him, and pushed his shirt up higher, ran cool fingers over Jim's nipple.

"So we don't have anything to do until then?" Jim whispered, his skin pebbling under Spock's fingers and his eyes already growing dark.

"That is affirmative…" Spock mumbled.

"Well then," Jim purred, pulling Spock down but stopping him before their lips could meet, "I think…" he smirked,"…that we should take a nap."

"Unacceptable," Spock said, a hint of a smile on his lips. "I propose an alternate activity."

"I have no idea what you're talking about," Jim claimed, his eyes wide and innocent.

Spock pushed down slightly and claimed Jim's lips, felt Jim smile underneath his touch, and laughed softly in the back of his throat. He pulled back and regarded the Human, who was attempting to raise his eyebrow in imitation of the Vulcans he'd been surrounded by lately, and failing miserably in his efforts. Spock poked his eyebrow with a graceful finger.

"You should exercise your facial muscles," he teased, and Jim huffed.

"I'll show you facial muscles," Jim growled, and rolled them, slotting his hips over Spock's and attacking his jaw, sucking a mark on the underside of it. Spock let out a shaky breath and pushed his hips up, allowing his erection to begin to slowly unsheathe.

Jim groaned when he felt the hardness at his hip, and their bond pulsed with their desire, making them hyper-aware of each other's craving to touch. With a flurry of fabric, clothes were shed and in a series of events that were hazed with need, Spock somehow ended up on his stomach with Jim nibbling and sucking down the ridge of his spine.

"Let me," Jim murmured, and Spock pulsed his wordless assent through their connection. Jim moaned softly under his breath and spread Spock apart, immediately applying the flat of his tongue to Spock's opening, then firming it and spearing in. Spock arched up at the almost electric feeling of Jim's heat—it was so… so… Jim pushed in deeper, and Spock groaned at the feel of Jim's stubble scraping over sensitive flesh. Coherent thoughts disappeared and he gave himself fully to pleasure.

He cried out softly in protest when Jim pulled back, but relaxed again when after a moment, Jim dove back in, his tongue this time accompanied by a slick finger. Spock hissed with satisfaction and pushed back, making Jim laugh and in turn, creating the most pleasing vibrations through his core.

Another finger was soon added, and Spock began to feel the stretch. He'd topped Jim exclusively since they had again begun to have relations, and he realized he was almost inappropriately excited for this. Before the Vehsins, he'd generally taken the more dominant role as well, but on the more infrequent occasions when Jim penetrated him, his orgasms had been almost unbearably powerful.

Over the bond, he blearily sent the memory-image of the last time Jim had taken him, and behind him, Jim pulled back again, laughing.

"I don't think the Vulcans will appreciate us breaking their bed," he giggled, and when Spock was distracted, slid in another finger. "But I am going to make you come so hard,  _ashayam_ …" He pumped his fingers a few times, then slid his free hand between Spock and the bed to run his fingers along Spock's flushed cock.

Spock lifted his hips to give Jim a better angle and this movement jostled Jim enough that his fingers slipped and rubbed across Spock's prostate. Spock groaned and buried his face in the pillow to muffle the noise. Jim slid his hand (now slick with Spock's essence) down his own length a few times, then pulled his fingers out and pushed just the tip of his head past Spock's tight ring of muscle.

"Let me hear you," he breathed. "Love to hear you, don't hold back, tell me…"

Spock started babbling in Vulcan and Jim sank in with a low groan, again snaking his hand to Spock's cock, smearing his hand liberally with his natural lubricant, playing lightly at the base, sticking just the tips of his fingers into the slit of Spock's overly-sensitive sheath.

He was carefully holding his hips still, and Spock moaned, (unable to properly process the overstimulation) "Please Jim, cease teasing, please move, please…"

Jim let out a broken cry and pulled back swiftly, thrusting in with equal force. He turned his hand and gripped Spock firmly, applying the perfect force and rate of motion, and Spock felt the pressure in his groin grow more pronounced with every millimeter of Jim's movement.

" _Fa'ashau du,_ " Spock moaned, and Jim leaned down, pressing his weight along Spock's back.

"I love you too," he whispered into Spock's ear, and bit gently at the top of Spock's spine, a gesture of claiming and love that Spock had taught him years ago. Spock arched up, threw his hand back to latch onto Jim's neck, and came forcibly, clenching around Jim and pulling him along to climax.

They collapsed, shaking with exertion, and Jim placed a final hot kiss to Spock's spine before pulling out and rolling the boneless Vulcan onto his back.

"You…" Jim mumbled, and buried his head into Spock's neck, a gesture that was rapidly becoming the usual post-coital position.

Spock wrapped his arms around Jim in return, and held tightly, their bond thrumming gently between them with contentment.

('')

Jim and Spock arrived at the transporter bay precisely five hours and six minutes after Stonn and elder Spock had left their quarters, freshly showered and with their small bags slightly lighter than when they had originally beamed aboard Stonn's transport last week. They were greeted by a haggard-faced Stonn and a somber elder Spock, as well as an impassive T'Pau.

"Sek has died," Stonn muttered when Spock gave him a curious look. "You remember him—I had to show him out of the mess hall…"

Spock sighed. He remembered. "I mourn with thee," he said, and Stonn shot him the most emotional look Spock had seen him give yet.

"I am… I find myself…" Stonn started, but then shook his head, obviously gathering his calm. "It is illogical to allow ourselves to die helplessly. I find myself wishing we had more options, and regret that I could not convince more of the unbonded males to make this journey with us."

"Perhaps if we are successful we may return and attempt to convince them again," Spock responded softly, and Stonn nodded.

They had a quiet goodbye with elder Spock. It was highly unlikely they would see each other anytime soon, but when Jim brought up the fact that he was welcome to come with them, he had simply shaken his head and stated that he belonged with his people. "To help where I can," he said, and Spock had understood. He hoped that their journey to Earth would be successful—that they might have a chance to again return to the Vulcan colony.

Spock stood tall before T'Pau with his hands clasped stiffly behind his back. "Jim and I owe you a great debt," he said, and T'Pau inclined her head.

"We have merely attempted to repay what we, in part, owe you from our rescue from Vulcan," she responded, and raised her hand in the  _ta'al_. "Live long and prosper, Spock."

Spock nodded, and raised his own hand in return. "Peace and long life." Beside him, Jim stepped up to address T'Pau as well.

"I can't thank you enough for giving me my life back, for giving me Spock back," he told her, and she raised an eyebrow. Jim continued, flushing slightly under her gaze. "I know you've said that you were just repaying a debt, but if you ever need us for anything, call and we'll come. What you've done for me is… immense." He bowed slightly to her, and she nodded approvingly.

"I will remember your words, James Kirk," she said. "Live long and prosper."

"I certainly will try to," he responded with a slight smile, and she nodded one last time before turning and leaving Spock, Jim, and Stonn alone with elder Spock.

The three of them were beamed aboard, all immediately beginning to shiver in the cold of the shut-down ship. As soon as they left the transport pad, it activated again, this time bearing the replacement dilithium that would allow them to utilize heat and speed for the trip back.

"I will begin the start up sequences," Spock said, his teeth chattering. "Jim, please head to engineering and monitor the start-up from there. Stonn, can you move the dilithium to the engine room storage bays?"

After receiving affirmatives, the group broke apart, Jim and Stonn headed in one direction with a hoverpad full of dilithium between them, Spock headed in the other. Spock was already lost in his head, calculating the best flight plan that would get them to Earth the fastest.

('')

Three weeks, six days, eighteen hours, and forty-nine minutes later, the  _Yeht-gav_  dropped out of high warp behind Jupiter. Stonn flicked several switches, opening all communication frequencies, and Jim engaged the cloaking device while simultaneously turning off all unnecessary equipment, effectively silencing the ship.

Spock leaned back in his chair and steepled his fingers.

"Are we prepared?" he asked into the silence on the bridge.

"Yep," Jim said tensely. "Fly in hot and fast, lay down a blanket of fire before they know what hit 'em."

"Land and engage the enemy," added Stonn flatly, his voice holding a tinge more distaste than was strictly acceptable. His medicine was beginning to fail, and cracks were showing in his Vulcan calm. "Kill them until Sybok is rescued and my blood has cooled."

"And then retreat with haste," Spock finished. "This plan will work."

"Yea it will," Jim muttered, and Sybok nodded slowly.

"Go," Spock ordered.

('')

Sybok had lost track of how long he'd been in this cell, but he didn't think it could have been more than a month. He blamed his terrible time keeping on the several 'discussions' he'd had with three or four particularly vicious level three guards and the resulting necessity for multiple healing trances. Currently, he was slowly pulling himself back into consciousness from the latest one, and hoped that this time when he opened his eyes, it would just be him and Bhaan.

Not that Bhaan was a particularly welcome sight… Sybok had a whole new level of dislike for the Vehsins, this time purely on a personal level. Bhaan was infuriating. He was self-centered, arrogant, rude, and generally a pain in Sybok's ass. Working together with someone out of necessity had never been so endlessly frustrating.

And it wasn't that Bhaan was actively trying to be difficult—on the contrary, Sybok was well aware that the Vehsin was trying very hard to work with him. It was just that their two cultures were so radically different, they barely even had any shared life experiences with which to base any sort of understanding. As a result, they were constantly at one another's throats, though their altercations had yet to become physical.

Sybok finally surfaced from his trance only to find Bhaan staring unblinkingly at him. "Gods, will you  _not_  do that?" he snapped, and Bhaan rolled his eyes. Sybok took a stabilizing breath—he didn't want to start this already. "Do we have any food?" he asked tiredly, and Bhaan sighed before handing him a dry chunk of bread.

"I ate the gruel," he buzzed, and Sybok shrugged.

"Whatever they've been giving us has salted pork in it. It gives me a stomachache anyway." He broke off a crust of the bread and tried to gum it, suppressing the surge of discomfort he still felt when eating with his hands. Utensils were a bit too much to ask.

Bhaan snorted. "Isn't a vegetarian diet illogical in such conditions?" Sybok easily heard his derision, and rankled slightly at the tone.

"Perhaps, but I am still unused to meat. I'll be fine with bread for now." He broke off another piece of it and slowly started chewing again. "Has anything happened of interest while I was out?"

"All that has happened is that you have again wasted valuable time in your 'trance,'" Bhaan responded, rising to his feet and starting to pace. "We need to be planning our escape, and you've been  _sleeping_."

Sybok took another steadying breath and suppressed his urge to punch Bhaan in his stupid, green, buggy face. He ate the last of the bread in an effort to draw out the silence and give himself time to think. "I have  _not_  been sleeping," he said finally. "In case you hadn't noticed, I was barely breathing when your 'brothers' threw me back in here. I needed to  _heal_."

"If you were less soft, you would not have those problems," Bhaan muttered, and Sybok clenched his fists.

"Oh, because you've just been completely fine when they decide to beat on  _you_  for fun? I seem to remember differently. You seemed rather  _soft_  when they were kicking you in the head."

"If you cannot hold your own, you will be less than useless to me," Bhaan snapped, flaring out his wings. Sybok scoffed.

"Maybe you'll be useless to  _me,_ " Sybok shot back, feeling his anger pooling in his chest.  _Calm down,_  he told himself, but for some reason, found he was still talking. It would almost be interesting to catalog his loss of control in a tense situation, had the end result not been so painfully unpleasant.

"And if your psychotic, power-hungry bitch of a mother hadn't fucking  _invaded_ my galaxy, you wouldn't be in prison, you ass!" Sybok yelled at Bhaan without even realizing what he was saying. "Unless you were such a fuck-up of a Vehsin that you'd have ended up here somehow anyway!"

"Do not insult me, Vulcan," Bhaan buzzed dangerously.

"I haven't even begun to insult you, Vehsin," Sybok growled with equal venom.

"I see now the reason we chose to kill your people," Bhaan continued, turning again to pace. "You are insufferable! Useless, weak, soft-minded—"

Unable to bear one more second of this, Sybok tackled him, hastily erecting mental shields to protect against the worst of the Vehsin's mental transference.

He punched Bhaan square in the eye, and took a half moment to revel in just how  _good_  that felt before Bhaan was flipping them, trying to use his claws against Sybok's arms. But Sybok was stronger and held Bhaan down with little difficulty, though he somehow ended up on the Vehsin's back.

"Murdering—" Sybok hissed, and punched Bhaan again, looping his fist around to get at the side of his face. Bhaan bucked up in an effort to dislodge him, flared his wings, and Sybok jerked back to avoid getting sliced.

"Idiotic—" Bhaan countered, spinning and trying to knock Sybok's legs from under him. He succeeded in making Sybok stumble, but after a moment he was up and swinging again, connecting a solid left hook to one of Bhaan's mandibles, on which he promptly cut his hand.

"Genocidal monsters—" Sybok cried, and Bhaan kicked him in the leg, making him stumble again. Sybok fell to the ground, his hand landing on a loose rock. Without thinking, he curled his fist around it, rose, and tackled Bhaan to the ground. "Enough of this," he breathed, and hit Bhaan hard across the face. Stunned, Bhaan offered no protest when Sybok settled his fingers of one hand on the alien's psi-points and the other across his mouth to stop him speaking.

"Your pain runs deep, Bhaan," Sybok muttered, and Bhaan's eyes widened and he started shaking his head wildly. Sybok paused, momentarily triumphant that he was feared enough by the Vehsins that Bhaan knew exactly what it was that he was doing. He licked his lips and continued. "Share it with m—"

The door to their cell crashed open, and Sybok looked up. A single guard. No time to think—he practically bounded off of Bhaan and wrapped both hands around the rock he'd dropped next to Bhaan's head, swung with all his strength.

The shot was dead-on to the side of the guard's head, and he crumpled dead, oozing black blood onto the stone floor. Sybok stood over him for a moment, breathing heavily, then spun back to face Bhaan.

The Vehsin had pushed himself up to his elbows and was staring back at Sybok with wide eyes.

"Look," Sybok started, and Bhaan cringed slightly. Sybok narrowed his eyes, abruptly deciding he didn't have time for this. "If you want to leave, now would be a good time," he said, bending down and rummaging to unstrap the guard's plasma rifle. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Bhaan shakily pushing himself to his feet.

"I got carried away," Sybok told the floor. "Vulcan emotions… can make our behavior unpredictable. It's why my people have worked so hard to suppress them."

"Yes," Bhaan agreed, then slowly added, "I was out of line as well." He moved to the guard and stripped him of his belt and shirt. He took off his own shirt (which was now mostly rags) and slipped on the replacement before shoving the guard behind him, further into the cell. He buckled on the belt and dropped his hand appreciatively to the metal rod encased in its special holster.

Sybok watched him warily. Bhaan backed up a step and regarded him as well.

"Are we still working together?" Sybok asked, preparing to take action should Bhaan say differently.

Bhaan nodded slowly. "We have a higher chance of success if we cooperate."

"Right," Sybok said. "We should go, then." Neither moved, and after a moment, Sybok rolled his eyes. "I promise I won't try to make you go insane."

Bhaan nodded slightly. "And I promise I will not use the Urdian on you."

Sybok raised an eyebrow. "Is that what you call those things?" he asked, glancing at the top of the metal rod that was visible in Bhaan's holster.

Bhaan voiced the affirmative, and with that, they slid into the corridor. "This way," Sybok said, gesturing to the left. "There's an emergency access door this way. We'll be able to get out into the forest."

"Right," Bhaan breathed, and they ran softly down the hallway. It veered to the left, and as they swung around the corner, Sybok ran straight into three patrolling third level males. He swore and backtracked, but one already wrapped a claw around his arm. The other two started to pull out their Urdians, but Bhaan exploded around the corner and threw out a claw.

"Wait!" he said breathlessly. "This Vulcan is my prisoner. Keep off him." The third level males looked confused, but the one holding Sybok's arm dropped it. Sybok stared at them in shock for a moment, then raised his plasma rifle and shot all three in quick succession before jumping over their smoking bodies and bolting down the corridor.

"How did that even work?" he called out to Bhaan, who hadn't even broken stride, and was now running even faster down the hall.

"I told you, third levels are extremely stupid," Bhaan yelled back over his shoulder. "Now hurry—I see the door."


	12. Battle

Just as Sybok and Bhaan reached the emergency exit door, there was a resonating low explosion that shook the building and knocked them from their feet. Dust filtered down from the ceiling and the overhead lights flickered for a moment before going dark. A moment later, they were replaced by the sickly orange glow of emergency lights.

"What was that?" Bhaan asked shakily as they pushed themselves to their feet.

"Sounded like plasma bolts got the power generator," Sybok said distractedly as he checked his gun. "Whatever's going on is going to provide an excellent distraction for our escape though, so let's get out of here."

Sybok and Bhaan slid through the heavy emergency exit door into chaos. A bird-of-prey was hovering over the base, firing in quick succession, cloaking, then reappearing in a different spot only to blow something else up. The air was filled with the sound of phaser fire, plasma rifles, and screaming.

Bhaan snorted. "Well this  _is_  fortuitous," he buzzed as an alarm began to sound. Sybok winced at the near-crippling noise and tugged on Bhaan's sleeve, pointing across a large open space toward a line of trees. He shouted to be heard over the blaring alarm.

"If we can get that direction, we'll hit a fence in about half a kilometer. We'll have to overload it—it's electric. There are some caves another few kilometers past that, we can regroup there."

"Fine," Bhaan shouted back. "But I need a gun."

Sybok resisted the urge to grind his teeth. "I'll cover you! We don't have time, and why didn't you get one from one of those guards I killed?"

Bhaan shrugged and flicked his antennae in annoyance. "I was just trying to get out," he buzzed.

Sybok growled with frustration and pulled Bhaan into a more hidden spot, ducking behind him as a small detachment of security guards pounded past them, intent on the harassing bird-of-prey. It uncloaked almost directly over their heads and Sybok glanced up, trying to see its identifying marks, but it fired and disappeared again too quickly him to make anything out.

Suddenly Bhaan slipped away from him, jogging toward a solitary third level while keeping a wary eye on the sky, ducking under a tree when the bird-of-prey reappeared for a split second. Sybok swore under his breath and pressed further against the wall, keeping his head down. The last thing he needed right now was a jumpy guard spotting him and killing him out of reflex.

Bhaan appeared to be yelling at the third level, pointing behind him toward the (now merrily burning) base, and when the unfortunate guard looked over his shoulder, Bhaan flicked his Urdian out with a practiced gesture and applied it almost delicately on the guard's neck. Sybok watched in amazement as he dropped boneless to the ground. Bhaan swiftly relieved him of his gun while tucking the Urdian back in its pouch.

He trotted back toward Sybok, again ducking when the bird-of-prey reappeared, and stopped directly in front of Sybok's almost-hidden spot. He glanced around once and calmly said, "Right. I'm ready, let's go."

Sybok gaped at him for a moment. "That was entirely too easy, how did you…?"

Bhaan clicked his mandibles. "They. Are. Stupid." He glanced around. "And they're programmed to obey me because I outrank them. For one bird-of-prey, they're doing an awfully good job of blowing things up."

Sybok stared at him for a second longer, then glanced around himself. "I suppose. They're probably trained soldiers—most rebellion fighters are."

"If they're rebellion, maybe we don't have to go to the caves," Bhaan told him. "Is there a way for you to communicate with that ship?"

"If I could get to the communication array, yes," Sybok said, taking aim at a soldier behind Bhaan's back that had noticed them and dispatching him with a careful shot. "But it appears to be on fire, so…"

"They're not shooting the holding cells," Bhaan observed, and Sybok realized he was right. And then the puzzle of just who was piloting this particular bird-of-prey clicked into place.

"Fucking Spock," he muttered. "I  _said_ …" He pointed with his gun back the direction they'd come. "Help me get to the guard's station in the cell block. I can modify one of the computers there and get my suicidal  _fucking_  brother a message."

('')

Spock cocked his head when the communications array dinged—he had not anticipated that the Vehsins would attempt to hail the ship that was firing on them. It went against type.

"What is the message?" he asked Jim, who stared at it for a moment, then narrowed his eyes in confusion.

"Morse code?" he answered uncertainly, and immediately starting typing out the translation on his PADD. At the next console, Stonn huffed and took over plotting a random series of decloakings and firings upon the base.

"Get… down… here… help… bastard?" Jim read slowly as he translated, and Spock rolled his eyes.

"It appears Sybok has both escaped and been successful in accessing a computer terminal," he said, then turned to Stonn and ordered, "Land the ship. We have crippled the main power sources. Now all that remains is clean up."

Stonn grunted his assent in a harsh manner that was entirely unlike him, and with a jolt, Spock realized the other Vulcan was sweating. They needed to get to the base quickly before Stonn lost all control. Fortunately, there shouldn't be any shortage of hostile forces for them to kill—Stonn would all right.

Jim slid back over the nav console and helped Stonn double check the landing pattern—they were putting down in a clearing that was barely large enough for the ship. They would be about three kilometers away from the base and would beam directly in to the compound from there. Spock simply couldn't risk landing his ship on the base's land—it would be too easy for a well-placed charge to destroy their only means of escape.

There was a jerk as the ship settled to the ground and all three men rose, grabbed their weapons and headed to the transport pad. Spock set the coordinates and flicked it on automatic, then joined the other two on the pad. He had enough time to twine his fingers briefly with Jim's before their molecules began to separate.

They reappeared precisely where Spock had intended—a small alcove near the mess hall. He glanced around, simultaneously pleased that they'd created so much havoc and annoyed they'd been forced to destroy their own base.

"Stonn," he ordered, "attempt to ascertain whether the weapons cache is still stocked. Do what you need to do, but please be careful. If we are swift and silent, we have a chance of not sustaining any casualties." Stonn nodded and whipped out his phaser and a knife. He began to move quickly along the wall, keeping to shadows, and soon disappeared around the building, headed for the armory. A moment later, Jim and Spock heard a sharp (and swiftly cut off) yell, and Jim smiled tightly.

"Looks like Stonn's going to be all right."

"Indeed," Spock agreed, then told him, "We will check the holding cells. It is likely Sybok is nearby."

"Right," Jim said tensely, then pointed to the next building's roof. "There's snipers."

Spock took carful aim and dispatched the two Vehsin guards on top of the building, his adrenaline rush growing when one tipped over the edge and fell to the ground with a crunch. He made a vaguely pleased noise in the back of his throat and Jim gave him a worried look. Spock realized his pleasure at killing the guard had seeped through the bond.

"…Spock?"

"Now is not the time," Spock said with a hint more force than was strictly necessary and Jim shook his head slightly, but swung to cover Spock's back. They slid from their protected spot and snuck in the opposite direction that Stonn had gone.

They picked their way carefully through the base, dispatching soldiers by careful shooting, usually before they were even seen. A vague worry that more (effectively hidden) snipers were around circled in the back of Spock's mind, but as there was nothing he could do about that, he attempted to push the thought away.

He and Jim slid into a protected spot near the holding cells (unknown to them, it was the same spot Sybok and Bhaan had so recently occupied) and considered the possibility of encountering more forces once inside the building.

"You really think Sybok's even still inside?" Jim asked, and Spock shook his head.

"I do not know. If he were able to somehow send us a message, it could be assumed that he had found a way to free himself. However, the cells are highly defensible, and it would therefore be logical for him to remain there once it became apparent we were here to rescue him."

"But when has Sybok ever been over logical?" Jim asked dryly, but then went on, "But we should go in anyway. It's as good a place as any to start." Spock nodded, and they turned the corner of the building, only to come into view of Sybok huddled against an adjacent wall, talking to a Vehsin.

Spock opened his mouth in confusion, but was cut off when a rattling explosion nearly leveled the main building. He threw himself over Jim, protecting him from flaming debris, and Jim pulled him backward, closer to the building by which they were sheltering.

"The hell?" Jim yelled, over the ringing of their ears. "Was that Stonn?"

"Perhaps?" Spock yelled back. "The armory was located in that building. I—" he turned to look toward the destroyed structure and swore under his breath. Coming into view over the flaming ruin was a large Vehsin troop ship.

('')

Stonn was feeling  _much_  better. His blood was cool, he was once again rational and in full control of his bodily systems, and though he has killed a total of thirty-three Vehsins thus far, he had never felt more emotionally stable in his life.

The Vulcan colony, while a good idea in concept, was less fulfilling in practice. Honestly, his descent into  _pon farr_  was not the only reason he desired to leave the ship and come with Spock. If the events of today were anything to go by (provided he survived, of course) he felt that he would fit in with the rebellion quite effectively.

It did feel… satisfying… to kill those who were ultimately responsible for the demise of his people.

He had found the armory and overridden its locks with little difficulty. Currently, he was calmly selecting a wide array of weapons (as many as he could effectively carry and still be able to move swiftly) from its well-stocked walls. He was vaguely unsure what to do once this objective had been completed—Spock  _may_  have given him extra directions, but at the time his mental facilities were not functioning at one hundred percent and he did not really remember.

Regardless, he assumed that the acquisition of several new weapons would be advantageous, so he threw himself fully into selecting several of the best. He decided that afterward, he would attempt to locate the video surveillance and ascertain the whereabouts of his fellow crew.

As he reached for a rather brutal-looking rifle, fascinated by its shockingly sharp and serrated bayonet (it would fit well strapped to his back, he thought) his eyes settled on a small pile of innocuous black boxes. He raised an eyebrow.

Gingerly, he picked one up and pressed a recessed button on its side. Numbers appeared on its display. He nodded to himself and the corners of his mouth turned up ever so very slightly. It appeared he had found a small stockpile of high explosives. This was fortuitous indeed.

Five more guns strapped to various parts of his body and a duffel bag full of bombs later, Stonn left the armory and paused for a moment, listening to the muffled sound of fighting outside. It had died off, obviously, since they had landed, but he could still make out quiet whirrs of fission discharge from at least two directions. It was likely, then, that Sybok had located weapons and joined the fray.

Unconcerned that he would be seen, (he hadn't run into more than two guards once he was within the building, and had dispatched of them easily) Stonn slid down the halls, keeping an eye open for any sign of a security outpost. After precisely thirteen point two minutes of searching, he found it and eased the door open—if Vehsins were anywhere in this building, this room would be the most likely place.

He was not wrong. Six Vehsins (five of them the large and burly type, one of the smaller—though he was already tending toward fat) were gathered around a bank of video screens, watching the events in various parts of the compound unfold. The smaller one buzzed something in their native language to the larger ones, and Stonn silently removed one of his larger rifles and cocked it.

They didn't even have a chance to turn around before he had finished with them.

Stonn calmly stepped over their bodies, kicking one when it let out a last twitch, and hunched over the screens himself, scanning for Spock or Jim or Sybok (though he had never met Sybok, he assumed that he would be able to find a rouge Vulcan amongst so many Vehsins). After a moment of searching, his eyes flicked to a small screen toward the side, and his eyes widened infinitesimally as he saw what was on it.

A Vehsin troop ship was idling, hovering low over the trees and moving slowly toward the base. Stonn had seen a ship like that once before—on New Vulcan, mere hours before he had been one of the lucky few to escape the slaughter.

He suddenly felt that perhaps evacuating the area would be advantageous.

He turned to leave (perhaps 'accidentally' treading on one of the dead Vehsin's faces) but paused once he was in the corridor. It was unlikely that the resistance would be able to make use of this base again—the Vehsins now knew its exact coordinates and layout. It would be unsafe.

So why should they leave the base intact, to possibly be used by the occupying army?

He glanced down at the duffel bag he still carried, and the smallest quirk of a smile graced his lips. He did not think Spock would mind if he blew things up just a little.

('')

Sybok and Bhaan were crouched on a roof when the Vehsin troop ship appeared over the trees and headed toward the base. Sybok paled, and Bhaan let out a rattling noise that Sybok assumed was a curse.

"We should leave," he told the Vehsin, who didn't even bother to respond as he began to climb down from the roof. Sybok shouldered his gun and followed, still talking. "We must find Spock. The last sounds of phaser fire were coming from the east—go that way."

Bhaan grunted in confirmation, and Sybok resisted the urge to step on his fingers, though that  _would_  possibly make the damn bug move faster.

Once on the ground, Sybok immediately turned to head east, but Bhaan hesitated, lingering by the wall. "What?" Sybok asked him, exasperated, once he realized the Vehsin wasn't following.

"Your comrades are going to kill me," Bhaan said dully. "I would do better to attempt to make my own way."

Sybok considered this. He wanted to tell Bhaan that he could talk Spock into giving him safe passage, but… well. First, this was a battle situation, and Spock had become highly adept at shooting first and asking questions never. Second, Spock hated the Vehsin people more than Sybok had ever known anyone to hate anything ever, and would probably not be pleased at the news that they were supposed to be nice to this one. Third, Sybok found that he was regularly squashing the urge to shoot Bhaan himself.

Fortunately, (or perhaps unfortunately) the decision was taken out of his hands when Spock and Jim appeared around the corner of the building.

Several things then happened at once.

Spock stopped short and Jim ran into him. Sybok could see the confusion on Spock's face, and he could admit that this was on odd picture to be greeted with. However, any explanation he could have voiced (and Spock's suddenly murderous face meant that he certainly wanted an explanation) was cut off by a booming explosion that rattled his teeth and made him temporarily deaf.

He looked in amazement toward the main building (oh damn, the armory) which was now a pile of flaming debris. It was hot enough that the stone was actually on fire. Sybok sighed and had just enough time to feel regretful that someone had (obviously) used at least five of the bombs he and Scotty had put together to level what had been a very nice building before the troop ship he had seen from the roof rumbled into view over the building's ruins.

Sybok swore, turned to run toward Spock and Jim, and then backtracked a few steps and grabbed Bhaan by the shirt, dragging him behind. They would just have to take their chances that Spock wouldn't shoot the Vehsin on sight, because they really didn't want to be around when that ship started disgorging troops.

('')

"The fuck?" Jim muttered, and Spock felt that he wholeheartedly agreed.

Sybok was herding them across the compound, speaking as quickly as he was able about why they shouldn't kill the Vehsin he was accompanying.

"He  _helped_  me, there's a whole thing, we'll explain but not right now, right now we should  _leave_  as in go go go now," Sybok yelled breathlessly over the ringing in their ears.

"We must find Stonn," Spock yelled back (more for Jim's benefit) and half turned back toward the compound (they were almost at its outermost edge now, they would need to break through the fence and manually get back to the ship).

Unfortunately, that was when the troop ship (perhaps seeing that its quarry was escaping) began to fire.

All four of them dived for cover and behind them, the ship landed with enough force knock them from their feet. A heavy door dropped, and Vehsin soldiers began to spill from its innards. There was a voice in Spock's ear, and he cringed back when he realized who it was.

"We need to go," the Vehsin buzzed at him. "We will die if we stay to find your missing crewman."

Spock brought his gun up and stared at the bug. "You will not order me—" he said darkly, but stopped when he heard the rapid fire of high-powered plasma rifles. He leaned out from his small shelter (an overturned cart of some sort, he realized) to see Stonn blasting his way backward into the oncoming Vehsins.

A moment later, Stonn rolled behind the cart as well and spared a glance at Spock before settling blankly on the Vehsin. "What is that," he asked flatly, and brought his gun to point directly at the bug's face. Spock stared at him for a full second, taking in the (fourteen, if he counted correctly) guns he had strapped to various parts of his body, the myriad of slices and scrapes on every possible bare surface, and a slowly oozing gunshot wound that appeared to have clipped his shoulder.

"Don't shoot him," came Sybok's voice (equal parts exasperated and exhausted) from the other side of the Vehsin.

"Can we leave now?" Jim called over from his position behind a tree. "Everyone present and accounted for?"

"Run," Spock ordered, and they did.

('')

They somehow made it past the fence without dying, though they could hear the unmistakable noise of pounding boots following close behind them, and Spock was fairly certain he felt the heat of several near-missed phaser burns, though the adrenaline was pounding too hotly in his ears to be sure.

"The ship is thirteen degrees north," he yelled, panting now—he couldn't remember when he had ever run so fast. "We will reach it in seven minutes, and if we can get aboard we will—"

He cut off mid-sentence, a wrenching, burning pain suddenly ripping through his abdomen. The noise of energy weapons, the pounding of feet, and the panting of breath around him abruptly shut off, replaced by a high-pitched whine. He stopped running and looked down, surprised to see a burn in his shirt directly over the very bottom of his sternum. As he watched, blood began to swell past the fabric and dazed, he pushed his hand against the flow.

He fell to his knees, unaware that fifty feet in front of him, Jim had faltered and stopped as well, was now turning to him with a look of pure horror on his face. Spock swallowed with a click, and fell forward onto his hands as the taste of copper filled his mouth. His brain finally made the connection.

He had been shot.

His vision was beginning to blur and it was becoming harder and harder to think. Suddenly he felt himself supported by warm arms, rolled over, and a face swam into view—Jim. He looked terrified, and that was unacceptable, Jim should never be terrified.

He tried to convey this, but found himself unable to speak. Above him, Jim was staring at his chest with wide eyes, shaking his head minutely from side to side, repeatedly mouthing words Spock could not make out.

Something was happening within his body, and Spock turned inward, trying to ascertain the problems—and  _oh_. His various systems were shutting down. He was confused. The plasma bolt (because that was the only thing that could have caused this kind of damage) had missed his heart, this should not be… But it had hit a lung, and ripped a large hole straight through his chest.

And oh gods, he was dying.

With that, he became aware that Jim was screaming at him though their bond, and he attempted to focus on the words.

_/Spock stay with me you can't leave I love you don't die you can't die please god don't die I can't live without you please Spock/_

He wanted to tell him he would be fine—after all, they had had worse. Did Jim remember the time on Reisis? They had both been shot worse than this, and McCoy had fixed them easily, they just needed to get back to the  _Enterprise_ , and McCoy would yell at them and Nurse Chapel would smile and sneak them sandwiches and they would be  _fine_. Fine used to mean the best of its variable definitions.

He tried to say this, but he was so tired. Perhaps he should—

Spock's world went black.

('')

Jim let out a broken sob when Spock's eyes closed. He pressed his hand harder against the wound on his chest, unmindful of the still rapidly approaching guards, and _willed_  Spock to wake up, to get up, to get to the ship.

But Spock didn't wake up, and there was a building pressure behind Jim's eyes, like a string being wound too tightly, about to break. He had enough time to wonder vaguely if he would go insane when Spock actually died and their bond broke before he was shouldered roughly aside and green pebbled arms were lifting the limp Vulcan from the forest floor.

"Help me," the Vehsin buzzed at him. "I can fix this, but we need to get him to the ship before he is too far gone."

Jim stared for half a second, then abruptly decided that he didn't give a shit about anything the Vehsins had ever done to him—if this one could save Spock's life, he would fully absolve it of any past sins. He gathered Spock's legs the best he could and followed the Vehsin at a run.

Agonizingly long minutes later, the silvery hull of the  _Yeht-gav_  came into view, but before they could get to it, Jim felt his molecules separating—Stonn and Sybok had obviously started the ship up and were preparing to leave.

They reappeared directly in the medbay, and Jim was endlessly grateful. There was a lurch and he knew he should go to the bridge, help out, probably man the weapons or something, but there was just no way in hell that he was leaving Spock.

The Vehsin was rattling around the bay, clicking and buzzing unhappily under its breath, and Jim watched with wide eyes.

"Are you going to fucking do anything?" he asked, his voice shrill and strained. The ship lurched again, this time in a familiar pattern—they'd taken off.

The Vehsin didn't look at him when it snapped, "I'm working with archaic tools. Human ineptitude, not enough medical technology…" but it did something quickly with a laser knife, and the pressure in Jim's head eased.

It worked quickly and silently for several minutes, until it actually  _reached_  into Spock's chest and cracked something out of the way. Jim exploded.

"Just use a fucking regenerator! You're breaking his bones! If you kill him, I swear to god—"

"I'm not killing him," the Vehsin shot back. "And the plasma rifle destroyed some internal organs. A regenerator won't fix it, but I'm a Vehsin surgeon. I can fix anything. I just need…" it trailed off and went back to digging around Spock's chest. Jim closed his eyes and tried to comfort himself with the fact that he could still feel their bond pulsing between them.

('')

"They are aboard," Stonn told Sybok, and when the older Vulcan made no move to complete start-up sequences, Stonn shouldered him aside to stand at the nav console. "Concentrate first on our escape, then on the state of your brother," he reprimanded harshly, and Sybok narrowed his eyes.

But he didn't argue—he knew Stonn (well, he assumed this man was the Stonn that Spock had spoken of—they hadn't exactly had time for introductions) was correct. The fact that Spock may be dying in the medbay was of little importance if they were blasted from the air. He would just have to trust that Bhaan and Jim would be able to pull off a miracle.

So Sybok slid into place behind the weapons array and began to work furiously—the  _Yeht-gav_ 's cloaking device was up, but cloaking devices weren't actually that useful when the ship was close enough to hostiles that they could reach out and touch it. He flicked on the exterior video feed of the ship's surroundings and swore under his breath when he saw just how many Vehsin soldiers had already spilled into the clearing around them.

"Shields up," he said calmly, pushing aside his worry, and pressed a button, squashing the urge to smirk when several soldiers that were too close to the ship lost various appendages. Outside, the soldiers began firing ineffectively at the ship, but hand-held weapons were no match for a space-faring ship's defenses.

"If we hurry, we may be able to achieve orbit before the troop ship is again able to take off," Stonn said almost off-handedly, and Sybok began to move faster, the familiar feel of the controls under his hands allowing him to fall into muscle-memory.

As the ship rose higher over the small clearing, Sybok allowed the cloak to fall in favor of being able to mow down the gathered soldiers. Most had ceased firing and were retreating to the relative shelter of the trees, but Sybok was able to kill a large number with surgically precise shots from the ship's phasers.

Next to him, Stonn's fingers were flying over the console, rapidly plotting evasive maneuvers and muttering under his breath. Sybok caught something about ridiculously low fuel reserves and something that may have been a Romulan curse, but he couldn't be sure.

And gods, why did take-offs from Earth gravity always take so long? They were just now able to increase engine speed, and a glance at the view screen showed the troop ship lumbering into the air behind them. But they were still ahead, if they could just get into the atmosphere—

Stonn and Sybok let out twin breaths of relief as the  _Yeht-gav_  broke through the stratosphere and into Earth's orbit. There was a half-second where they exchanged a 'how-did-we-just-do-that' glance, and then Stonn pressed a button and they leaned back slightly at the force when they went to warp.

"I must change our course three times before we will be able to set coordinates for our actual destination," Stonn said softly, sinking to sit at the console.

"We're headed for the Badlands in Sector 4-70," Sybok told him, leaning on his console and taking in the other Vulcan's appearance while he tried to catch his breath. Stonn still had ten guns strapped to various parts of his body (he had lost a few in the firefight) and was scraped and bleeding from several spots, the worst of which was his shoulder. His hair was mussed and his face was exhausted. Sybok was aware that he likely didn't look much better, though many of his scrapes and bruises were weeks old. "I'm Sybok," he said finally, and Stonn's eyes flicked up to meet his.

"I am Stonn, son of Turrik."

They sat in silence for a few moments before Sybok cleared his throat. "Let's go to sickbay. We've got ten minutes before we need to change course."

Stonn nodded.

('')

Bhaan leaned back against the small cabinet of the medbay and watched as Spock breathed on his own. His antennae twitched and he glanced down at his hands, which were covered to his elbows in green blood. He moved to the small sink and methodically began to clean himself.

"He'll live," he told Jim, who glanced up from where he was sitting next to the unconscious Vulcan.

"Yea," Jim breathed, then reached out and laced his fingers with Spock's.

Stonn finished carefully drying his claws and turned to look at the Human. "Are you going to kill me?" he asked bluntly, and Jim looked up again, scrutinizing the Vehsin.

After a moment of silence, Jim looked down, back at Spock. He trailed his free hand along Spock's side and said, "I won't hurt you. And I can probably convince Spock once he wakes up. I can't make any promises for Stonn or Sybok or the rest of the rebellion, though."

Bhaan nodded. "I… appreciate it."

They stayed silent, both watching the sleeping Vulcan (Jim could tell through their bond that Spock was sinking unconsciously into a healing trance) until the doors to the medbay swished open, revealing Sybok and Stonn.

Sybok stared at the scene for a moment, taking in Spock's unconscious form, Jim's worried face, and Bhaan's defensive stance, then asked, "Were you successful? Are you whole?"

Jim nodded, his eyes not leaving Spock's face. "Yea. I'm all here. Are you all right?" Sybok said that he was, and Jim asked Stonn the same question, receiving the same answer. No one asked Bhaan anything.

"The Vehsin said Spock'll live," Jim told the other Vulcans. Sybok visibly relaxed and Stonn nodded.

"My name is Bhaan," Bhaan interjected tightly. Jim and Stonn looked at him, their faces blank, and Sybok gave him a weak smile. Bhaan shifted uncomfortably under all three of their gazes, and Sybok took pity on him and walked over to stand near him (not touching, of course). He addressed Jim and Stonn with a hint of steel in his voice.

"Bhaan is off-limits. He helped me escape, and he has a personal vendetta against the rest of the Vehsin Empire. He wants to kill one of the princesses."

Stonn raised an eyebrow and Jim cocked his head. "Princesses?" he asked incredulously, and his eyes glazed over in a manner that Stonn had become used to—Jim was scanning his internal information on the Vehsin people. Sybok had enough time to allow himself to be worried at Jim's blank face and Bhaan sucked in a breath.

"He's a carrier…" he muttered. “No wonder the Princess wants to find him. Does he have full access to our information?" he asked, turned to Stonn, who regarded him silently.

"Yea, I do," Jim said, coming back to himself. "That a problem?"

"No," Bhaan buzzed hurriedly. "It may be of use, though."

Jim hummed noncommittally and went back to watching Spock sleep.

"Maybe we should catch each other up on what's going on so far," Sybok suggested.

"I must alter our course," Stonn said. "When I return, we could begin." He left without another word.

Sybok watched him go and sighed. "Well, this is brutally uncomfortable," he muttered, and turned to Bhaan. "How did you know how to heal Spock? I thought you said you'd never really interacted with Vulcans."

Bhaan shrugged slightly and clicked his mandibles, a sign Sybok had come to know meant he was nervous. "I am a surgeon," he buzzed. "It was obvious which of his internal structures were injured—I could perform emergency operations on any species."

Sybok raised an eyebrow. "You never told me that," he said, faintly accusingly.

"You did not ask." Bhaan muttered, and glanced around the room, only to see that Jim was staring at him. "Yes?" he asked.

"You dug around in people's heads, didn't you." Jim said flatly, not a question.

Bhaan was silent for slightly too long, and Jim's eyes narrowed. "Not yours," the Vehsin said finally. Jim's face twitched in anger, and Sybok stepped forward slightly.

"Do not—"

"I won't hurt him," Jim snapped. "I already told him that." He took a breath and looked down at Spock again. "He saved Spock's life. That's enough for me right now."

The three of them lapsed into silence for several minutes, waiting for Stonn to reappear. When he finally did, his guns (save for a plasma rifle he'd strapped to his upper leg) were gone and his face was washed.

"Okay," Jim said, forcing his eyes away from Spock to look at the small gathered group. "Sharing time. Sybok, why don't you go first? I want a more detailed explanation about just why this Vehsin is on Spock's ship."

Sybok blinked in surprise at Jim's suffer-no-arguments tone. So  _this_  was Captain Kirk. He quirked a small smile and started talking, telling Jim and Stonn about the deal he and Bhaan had made. Bhaan occasionally added something, and after about half an hour (including another short break for an additional course change) Jim and Stonn were fully filled in on the situation, promise to help assassinate the Vehsin Princess included.

Then Jim told Bhaan and Sybok an abridged version of what happened at the Vulcan colony, even tactfully referring to Stonn's decision to join them because of  _pon farr_ only in a very oblique manner. Bhaan asked a few clarifying questions about bonding, and Sybok grinned and told Jim that he was thrilled to have a new brother.

All the while, Spock slept on, healing, healing.

('')

Spock woke up to the sound of quiet breathing, the feel of Jim's hand clasped in his own, the darkness of the medbay at night, and the soft slide of Jim's sleeping mind against his own. He took a moment to try and untangle his memories—there was something about a Vehsin ripping out his heart, and that didn't make sense. But his chest ached, so  _something_  must have happened.

He listened to the thrum of the biobed taking his readings, and shifted slightly. Next to him, Jim sucked in a breath, surfacing from sleep, and a moment later, his human was leaning over him, a small smile on his face.

"Hey."

Spock smiled in return.

"Computer, lights to thirty percent," Jim ordered, and the lights rose slightly. Jim bent down and kissed Spock gently, ignoring the staleness of a mouth that had been shut for days. After he pulled away, he smiled again. "Welcome back."

Spock raised his head and looked down his body. A swatch of gauze was covering the center of his chest and he had a thermal blanket wrapped around his stomach and lower legs. It was quite warm in the medbay, and he realized that Jim must have purposefully raised the temperature to make him more comfortable.

"I am unaware of the events that put me in this situation," he said, his voice raspy. "How long have I been unconscious?"

Jim replicated a cup of water and handed it to him. "Drink slow," he ordered. "You've been out for almost a week."

Spock blinked. "I have never…"

"Believe me, I know," Jim said dryly. "You were hurt. Badly. I thought…" he looked down at his hands and took a breath. "On Earth. I thought you'd died. I felt the bond… I don't know. Start splintering, I guess. But Bhaan did something crazy that involved him sticking his arms in your chest and… he saved you." He thought for a moment, then added, "Which is why you don't get to kill him."

Spock was confused. "Bhaan?" he asked, and took another sip of water. Jim smiled at him.

"I've got a  _lot_  to tell you."


	13. (Pause)

Princess Penna watched the small blip that represented the attacking bird-of-prey disappear from her ship's view screen. She clicked her mandibles together slowly and smoothed out her wings, picked a speck of invisible dust off her tunic, and took a deep breath. She turned to her second in command, an unfortunate second-level male named Dhrn.

"How," Penna asked, her voice barely above a whisper, "did they escape?" Dhrn tried his best not to blatantly cower before her.

"It appears that the traitor Bhaan was with them," he told her miserably. "He… his presence confused the third levels and they did not aim and fire as they were ordered. We've never had…"

"A traitor, I know," Penna finished for him. She clicked her mandibles more forcefully, and Dhrn cringed backward. Penna shot him a withering glance and closed her eyes, furious with herself that she hadn't simply had her scapegoat killed straight away. His continued existence and escape had thrown a huge wrench in a situation that was already close to spiraling out of control.

She shook her head, dismissing the thought—if Bhaan got someone to listen to his version of the events surrounding the assassination of her sisters, it would be his word against hers. No one in their right mind would listen to the testimony of a second level over her own. But he may be able to help the rebels regarding intelligence… she opened her eyes and glared at Dhrn, who was still hovering uselessly.

"What?" she snapped.

"It's just…" Dhrn hesitated, obviously not wanting to share some news that was undoubtedly unpleasant.

"Spit it out," Penna rattled dangerously.

"The bird-of-prey," Dhrn forced out. "We placed its markings. It was Spock's ship. The human that was spotted with the Vulcans must have been Kirk."

Penna let her eyes flutter shut as the sheer magnitude of the  _incompetence_  she was surrounded by slammed into her.

They almost  _had_  them, and they fucking. got. away.

She started quivering in anger, and Dhrn backed up a step. His boot made the slightest shuffle against the metal of the bridge's floor, and Penna's eyes snapped open, furious. With one swift movement, she lashed out with her sharp, boney wrist spurs and stabbed the unfortunate male directly in the heart.

He fell to the ground, twitching, and Penna screamed into the bridge in general—"FIND THEM. Get the  _fuck_  off this planet and FIND THEM!"

The remaining males on the bridge scurried into motion, and Penna sat at her chair, still shaking slightly in fury. She rested her feet on Dhrn's body and took a deep breath.

Kirk and Spock would not get away again.


	14. Demon Moon

Spock was able to get out of the medbay a few days later, though his chest and back still ached beyond all belief. The plasma bolt had shot a quarter-sized hole straight through his torso, ripping up a lung and two ribs and even nicking his spine—the exit wound had been a similar size until Bhaan had dug in, enlarging it (necessarily roughly, as speed was of the essence) enough to be able to fit in both of his hands.

The healing trance had helped, and Spock was secretly (and entirely irrationally) pleased that when this new wound scarred over, it would cover a large portion of the scars he had received while in the reprogramming center.

They were limping along at warp two point five and had a week and a half until they reached the Badlands. It had taken some creativity on Sybok's part to juggle the remaining fuel to get them there, and as it was, the heating was again turned down far below the Vulcans' (and Jim's) comfort levels, though Bhaan didn't seem to notice.

The second day Spock had been awake, he'd been treated to a half-hour lecture courtesy of his brother about how when One received a message explicitly ordering 'no rescue missions', One should listen to said message and not engage in rescue missions, especially during the time One should have been spending on a honeymoon.

Spock had offered up his best eyebrow of doom, (which Sybok matched easily) and dryly apologized for saving his brother's posterior (Jim had snorted at Spock's word choice) once again. And Sybok had smiled and told Spock he was as adorable as a baby sehlat, and patted him condescendingly on the head and Spock wondered briefly why he liked his brother so much.

Stonn had visited that day as well—appropriately blank-faced and emotionless—and informed Spock that he was looking forward to meeting the rest of the available resistance fighters. He asked if there was a place for him aboard the  _Yeht-gav_ , and Spock confirmed that he was welcome. Stonn had also apparently taken to wearing the largest of the guns he had liberated from the base and following Bhaan around the ship, making the Vehsin wildly uncomfortable. Spock thought that this was both improper and hilarious.

Bhaan made only the briefest of appearances—simply to check on Spock's recovery. He was rightfully nervous, but generally tried to be pleasant. Spock was still unsure regarding his exact feelings toward the Vehsin, but Bhaan seemed to be honest in his dislike for the Empire, so Spock didn't have a large problem with letting him live. The fact that he had both helped Sybok escape and had saved Spock's life were also certainly points in his favor, as well.

Jim only left Spock's side to shower and take care of basic necessities. His voice lulled Spock to sleep at night and his warmth woke him up in the morning. And when Spock told him that he was acceptable, that Jim could go to the bridge or back to their quarters whenever he wanted, Jim only smiled and said that they'd spent enough time apart and that he never wanted to be anywhere that Spock wasn't. It was cheesy, and Spock secretly enjoyed every second of it.

('')

"I am capable of walking unassisted," Spock groused half-heartedly, but Jim just shook his head and tightened his arm around Spock's waist.

"What if I don't want to let you go?" he teased gently, and Spock shot him a look that was a mixture of affectionate and exasperated.

"I should walk onto the bridge under my own volition," Spock insisted, and Jim sighed but let him go.

"Fine…" he grumbled, and reached out to palm open the door to the bridge. It swished open and revealed Sybok and Stonn mid-conversation.

"So you see," Sybok was saying, "as long as you exhibit  _control_  over them, emotions are nothing to be feared—they can be embraced, giving you a more complete and fulfilling life."

Stonn shook his head, obviously trying to fully absorb Sybok's words, then glanced up at Spock and Jim.

"Spock," he said, his voice betraying a hint of surprise. "We had assumed you would remain incapacitated for another two days."

"I am acceptable," Spock answered, and the other two Vulcans raised matching eyebrows. Spock momentarily wondered if it was actually a good idea for the two of them to be getting along so well. This was sure to result in double the lectures when he inevitably made questionable decisions.

Sybok hummed under his breath and looked at Jim, who shot him a wide smile. "Spock says he's all good, so who am I to deny him his bridge?"

"If Leonard were here, you would undoubtedly be sedated," Sybok muttered, but got up to offer Spock the captain's chair anyway. Spock sank down, slightly out of breath but doing his best to not appear so.

"Bhaan informed me that I was no longer under bed rest orders," he told his brother, who frowned.

"You  _are_  aware that Bhaan has no actual knowledge of Vulcan anatomy, let alone your own unusual bodily structures?" he asked, and Stonn nodded sedately in agreement. Spock willed his face blank—they were ganging up on him already, and Jim's amusement lacing through the bond was not helping, either.

"Regardless," Spock said firmly, "I am captain of this ship, and must stay abreast of our situation. My presence on the bridge is logical." Stonn turned back to his console, obviously accepting this, and Sybok huffed slightly but dropped it as well. Spock tilted his head very slightly in victory (behind him, Jim suppressed a giggle) and ordered, "Stonn, report on our location. How soon will we arrive at the Badlands?"

"We will arrive at our destination in six days, twenty hours, and ten minutes. Provided we simply float once inside the electrical anomalies, we will have enough fuel for life support—as currently set—to remain engaged for another nine days, thirteen hours."

Sybok cut in. "We're sending encrypted SOS signals aimed at any resistance fighters in the area already. If we turn down the heating more and lower the oxygen mixture by two percent, we will have an extra three point nine days of life support."

"What is the average resistance response time to incursions into the Badlands?" Spock asked.

Sybok hesitated. "I can't be certain—it has been over a year and a half since I found refuge there. But at that time, response averaged at ten days, though occasionally ships were left to drift for months."

"But they'll be on the lookout for us, right?" Jim interjected, and Sybok nodded.

"I told Pike that I would send a message out directing rebel fighters toward the Badlands. If they ended up going there, we should be found," Sybok said, though he didn't look particularly confident.

"Do we have any other options?" Spock asked.

Stonn pressed a few buttons on his console and regarded the readouts for a moment before offering, "We have enough fuel to land on a class Y moon, a class K planet…" he paused. "No, the class K has been declared no-fly… We also have sufficient fuel to reach Bajor's orbit, but we would be unable to land."

Spock shook his head. "Bajor is more closely watched than Earth. We would doubtlessly be intercepted almost immediately."

Jim leaned against his chair and absentmindedly ran his hand along Spock's shoulder. "I don't think our chances on a demon class moon would be very good. We might save fuel, but we couldn't exactly go take a stroll."

"Our chances of being rescued are slightly higher if we proceed to the Badlands," Stonn said, and Sybok frowned at him.

"Our chances of rescue are point zero two percent lower if we go to the moon," he clarified. "And we will have a much longer time to work with the life support. We could be there for fifty-eight days."

Spock considered. Twelve days of life in the Badlands versus fifty-eight on a demon-class moon, and a negligible difference in chances of rescue? He shook his head slightly and turned to Stonn. "Divert course to the moon. Perhaps we will be able to amplify our distress signal and increase our chances of rescue."

"Yes sir," Stonn agreed, and began to deftly adjust their course.

Behind Spock, Jim pushed off his chair and headed out the bridge doors. "I'll go tell Bhaan," he threw back over his shoulder, and Spock was mildly disconcerted to feel a fluttering of annoyance through the bond.

 _/Jim?/_  he asked silently, but all he got in response was a terse / _later. enjoy captaining/_. Spock frowned and turned to him, but Jim was already gone. He twisted back around to face forward again and cringed, fluttered his hand to press at the bandage on his chest.

So what if Jim didn't agree with his choice? Spock was captain here, not Jim. But he still felt a slight pressure of worry in his head.

He was never supposed to be a captain, not when James Kirk was around. He'd never even  _wanted_  to—before all this, Starfleet had offered him his own ship an average of twice a year (though they had brought the subject up a grand total of five times that first year after Nero) and he'd never even given it a second thought, simply politely declining every message from the Admiralty.

And it hadn't been an issue when Jim wasn't whole—with no memories of how they had functioned as captain and first officer, there had been no awkwardness. And then they’d been concentrating on rescuing Sybok, and _then_ he'd been injured, and Jim of course hadn't addressed it, but now… Spock licked his lips and sat forward. Perhaps Jim felt that he should take over as captain? That Spock would want to go back to simply being his first officer?

As much as Spock had never wanted or asked for this kind of responsibility, he didn't know… He sat back again. The  _Yeht-gav_  was, essentially, a Vulcan ship. Yes, it held human (and now Vehsin, apparently) crew, but in the end, it was  _his_  ship. He did not want to give her up.

('')

Spock retreated to his and Jim's quarters after only a few hours on the bridge—he was exhausted and aching, and his bandage needed to be changed. Spock was sick of bleeding. He wished fervently as he limped down the hallway toward his rooms that McCoy were here—Bhaan was skilled, but had not even the slightest idea how to work a dermal regenerator, and healing trances could only do so much with such a severe wound.

He winced as he palmed the door open and staggered through it—their quarters were empty, and he felt a surge of guilt. Jim had not reappeared on the bridge and Spock was painfully aware that this was probably their first fight as a bonded couple. Not that they hadn't fought when they were aboard the  _Enterprise_ … but this was mildly disconcerting.

As Spock stared blankly a scattering of PADDs on his desk, the door behind him slid open and Jim stepped in, the bond instantly lighting with worry when he saw that Spock was in their room. "Hey," Jim said. "You should have told me you were leaving the bridge, I would have come to get you."

"I am capable of getting to our quarters on my own," Spock bit out, and Jim grimaced.

"Don't be pissed off at me, I didn't do anything." He folded his arms and did not help Spock settle onto their bed, though he tracked the Vulcan's movements carefully.

"You think my decisions are inadequate." Spock accused, his voice tired, but when he winced, Jim cringed slightly in sympathy.

"No," he countered, but there was a waver of emotion that Spock could not identify through the bond. "But I don't understand why we're not going to the Badlands."

Spock huffed. "Will you assist me in changing my bandage?" he asked, and Jim nodded and stepped into the bathroom to gather the necessary supplies. When he returned, he sat stiffly on the edge of the bed next to Spock and helped him remove his shirt. Jim frowned when he saw that the bandage was stained green—the wound had obviously been seeping.

As Jim peeled the used bandage away, Spock spoke softly. "The odds in one favor or another are negligible. And…" he hesitated, and Jim glanced up at him, blue eyes concerned.

"Lean back," he said softly, then prompted, "And…?" as he gently wiped dried blood from around Spock's wound.

"And I am being selfish," Spock finished. "If we are to die on this ship, I would rather have two months with you than two weeks."

Jim silently applied an antiseptic healing ointment and stared fixedly at Spock's chest. He spread the paste carefully, then measured out another length of gauze and precisely taped it to Spock's skin. Then he gathered the boxes, placed them back in the bathroom and returned with an antibiotic hypospray, which he shot into Spock's shoulder.

"You don't think we're going to be rescued," Jim said finally, breaking the stifling silence of their room.

"…Our chances are low," Spock murmured, not wanting to fully divulge their situation, but knowing Jim deserved to know. "Approximately fifteen percent with either option." Jim guided him down the rest of the way onto the bed, so that Spock was flat on his back. He threw his leg over the Vulcan so that he was straddling his narrow waist, and looked down into his eyes.

"I didn't know it was that low," Jim muttered. "And here I was, all pissed, when you just wanted to be with me."

"My actions are purely selfish," Spock repeated, and brought his hands up to rub softly along Jim's legs. "I feel that I deserve the pleasure of your company."

"You do," Jim murmured, and leaned down to kiss him, careful not to put any pressure on his chest. Spock returned the kiss willingly, but turned his head when Jim attempted to deepen it.

"Do you believe—" Spock stopped, chewed his lip for a moment, and started again. "Perhaps a better phrasing is—do you  _wish_ … to replace me? As captain?"

Jim sat back, a slightly stunned look on his face. "You think I don't think you're a good captain." Spock averted his eyes, irrationally embarrassed. Jim leaned forward and cupped his face in his hands, forcing him to meet his eyes. " _Ashayam_ , don't think that. You are amazing. Wonderful, all the positive adjectives. And I told you years ago that you would have been the best captain Starfleet could have possibly asked for. Honestly, I never really understood why you were so dead set against leaving the  _Enterprise_ … well. Until we figured ourselves out, and then I got it a little bit. But still, you've always been more… more  _everything_  than me. So don't think for a  _second_  that I doubt your ability to lead. You are the  _best_ , and I wouldn't take that away from you for anything."

Spock blinked, slightly overwhelmed by the speech and the simultaneous transmission of honesty and loyalty that was flowing over their bond. After a moment, he quirked up the corners of his mouth. "You are aware that Sybok is my first officer."

Jim smiled wide in response. "What, I don't get the title 'cause I'm banging the captain?" he teased, stroking his fingers lightly along Spock's cheek. "I don't need a title on your ship," he continued, serious. He laced their fingers and drew one of Spock's hands up to his mouth so he could kiss a knuckle. "It's enough that I'm with you."

"Jim—"

"No, hold on," Jim interrupted. "Listen, I meant what I said when we were on the way to the colony ship. I'm not the James Kirk that that idiot woman wrote about in my biography. Everything's changed, and just 'cause I have my memories back doesn't mean I want to go back to being who I was. Things may not be perfect, but I don't want… I'm not Captain Kirk. I'm just Jim, and I like that. It's good."

Spock let out a shaky breath. "I did not want this command," he admitted softly, "but now that it is mine, I do not wish to give it up."

"I know," Jim said with a smile, and leaned down to kiss him again. "And 'Captain Spock' rolls well off the tongue." He pressed his own tongue against Spock's closed lips, and pulled back, laughing, when Spock opened his mouth. "Greedy hobgoblin," he reprimanded lightly, and Spock raised his eyebrow.

Jim just smiled down at him. "We're done fighting now, right?" he asked.

"One of our less volatile disagreements," Spock conceded, and leaned his head back in a way that he knew Jim found immeasurably appealing. The sudden blast of desire that slammed through the bond made him smile, knowing he had hit his mark.

"Jesus, the things you do to me…" Jim muttered, and leaned down to scrape his teeth over that exposed neck. "You are supposed to be resting, and seducing is as about as far from resting as you can get."

"I am fully capable of simply lying here and forcing you to engage in the majority of the work," Spock countered. "Sex actually requires very little effort on my part." His eyes flashed with amusement. "One may even hypothesize that it is an excellent relaxation technique."

"Relaxation technique, hm?" Jim mumbled, and unzipped his own pants slowly, teasingly. "I could just get myself off, leave you hanging…"

"You would not submit me to such a cruelty," Spock disagreed, and Jim smiled, filthy.

"No, you're right, I wouldn't," he said willingly, and reached down to unzip Spock's pants as well, kneeling so he could work them down. Spock helpfully kicked his boots off and was thankful that he had not donned a replacement shirt. Jim resumed his seat on his hips, and a mischievous smile grew on his face. Spock watched him warily.

"So, Captain," Jim purred. "Order me. Tell me what I should do."

Spock flushed—they'd played this game a few times before, but he'd never been the one doing the ordering. It was… he felt his bodily controls falter, and allowed his erection to unsheathe, easing the pressure.

"Disrobe," he whispered.

Jim smiled and rocked off his hips, deliberately brushing his leg across Spock's dick when he rolled off him to stand next to their bed. He made sure Spock was watching him, their eyes locked, and only then did he slowly peel his sweater and shirt from his chest.

"The pants," Spock breathed. "Slowly."

Jim toed off his boots and pushed his pants and underwear down as one at a snail's pace, exposing inch after inch of pale, toned flesh. Spock felt his blood pressure elevate when the path of hair leading from Jim's bellybutton began to widen toward his groin. He purred in the back of his throat, and Jim's eyes darkened, dilating instantly in desire. He pushed his pants down to pool at his feet, and Spock was rewarded with the sight of Jim at full attention, flushed, quivering slightly.

"Come here and remove my briefs," Spock ordered. "Do not speak." Jim complied instantly, slid Spock's tight black boxer-briefs down his legs, and dropped them on the floor next to the bed. Spock allowed his erection to reach full turgidity. He opened his mouth, felt the need to swallow, tried again. "Orally stimulate me," he said, and was pleased with the steadiness of his voice.

Jim licked his lips and straddled Spock's knees, trailed kisses up his leg before reaching his prize. He tongued at Spock's head, pressed a wet kiss to his tip, and then opened his mouth and sunk down, his hand pressing to Spock's bony hips to anchor himself. Spock closed his eyes in pleasure as Jim worked his cock, and a familiar pooling of heat began to gather in his lower abdomen.

He opened his eyes and raised his head when one of Jim's hands left his waist. He saw that Jim was touching himself, and Spock snapped, "Remove your hand. You will achieve climax when I inform you it is time." Jim moaned in protest, but his hand stopped its movement and came up to work at Spock's dick instead.

But the added sensation of Jim's callused fingers was proving too much, and Spock gasped out, "Stop." Jim pulled off, his lips red and moist, and Spock gestured for him to crawl up his body. "Kiss me," he ordered, and Jim did willingly. Spock almost moaned when he tasted his sweet essence in Jim's mouth, and unconsciously tilted his hips up to rub against his Human. He pulled back, and murmured, "You may speak," into Jim's ear.

Jim huffed out a quiet laugh and whispered back, "This getting you hot, Spock? Having me at your beck and call? I'd do anything you told me to, I love you ordering me around, telling me to worship your body… you're so gorgeous, you don't even know it."

"Do you wish to be penetrated?" Spock asked him, quietly, almost conversationally, as if they weren't rutting against each other like teenagers. Jim let out a low groan and nodded. "Then prepare yourself," Spock said, his voice holding a hint of steel. "And turn around so that I may watch."

"Fuck yes," Jim moaned, and quickly slicked his hand with Spock's lubricant, then turned sideways on the bed so that Spock could see when he pushed two fingers into his body.

"Avoid your prostate," Spock warned, and Jim nodded, shifting his fingers to stay away from the spot, stretching himself open. He added another finger and Spock reached out, ran a hand along the curve of Jim's spine. After a moment, he added, "Stop whenever you feel you are ready. And then I wish you to ride me."

"Holy fuck, Spock," Jim moaned. "Keep talking like that and I'll come."

"Not until I am inside you," Spock countered.

"So not helping," Jim muttered, and then removed his hand and swung his leg over Spock's thighs, leaning down to kiss him for a brief moment before angling himself back and easing down onto the waiting Vulcan. Spock groaned softly and grasped tightly at Jim's hips, slowing his downward movement to the point where it was almost unbearable. But finally he was buried in the Human, taking deep, stabilizing breaths. Above him, Jim was trembling, his eyes closed and his mouth slightly open.

Spock ran his hands up Jim's sides, lingering along the scarred lines over where his heart beat in his chest, and let any mental shields down fully, washing his mate with gentle feelings of love and desire. Jim smiled and rocked his hips, opened his eyes, and looked down at Spock. Jim's face was open and full of affection, his emotions easily readable, and Spock suddenly felt a rush of relief—it hadn't really hit him how close of a call they'd had on Earth.

But Jim was here, with him, and they were alive, and they could do this, could be together. He snapped up his hips, and Jim leaned down, careful of his chest, and whispered into his ear, "Together, you and me, always together," and kissed him, and Spock forgot about his wound, forgot about being careful, and rolled them over, kissing Jim, touching him everywhere, reveling in the two of them.

('')

They had to change Spock's bandage again after they had finished and taken a nap, and Jim frowned and scolded. "I told you that you weren't supposed to move," he grumbled as he taped on a fresh swatch of gauze. "Jesus, I wish Bones were here. He wouldn't let you keep bleeding."

"He also would not have let me out of the medbay," Spock countered, and Jim hmm'ed in agreement.

"Yea, and I don't think he'd be thrilled about what we just did," Jim said, laughing, and then curled up against Spock's side. "I can't wait to see him," he said softly. "This must've been hard for him, too."

"The war?" Spock asked sleepily.

Jim pressed a kiss to his forehead. "Yea, and seeing me alive and… oh shit, where's Jo? I know he said he got a message from her, but I didn't even think to ask…"

"Leonard's daughter is in hiding on an undisclosed planet. I believe he knows the location, but no one else does. It is safer that way." Spock told him, turning slightly so he could run a hand through Jim's hair. "Many of our friends and family have gone into hiding."

"Yours didn't," Jim said softly.

"No."

Jim hesitated before asking, "Do you want to tell me what happened to Sarek?"

Spock shook his head, but spoke anyway. "The Vulcan high council attempted to negotiate with the Vehsins. My father was sent as a delegate, and was killed the moment his ship docked with theirs. It was assumed that the Vehsin merely expressed interest in negotiations to lure the elders into a trap. Sarek and four others were all killed and no more attempts at negotiations were made."

"I'm sorry," Jim whispered, and Spock again shook his head and regarded Jim solemnly.

"He would have been pleased to know you and I have reunited. He was… upset for me at the news of your death."

Jim looked mildly surprised. "Sarek was upset? Like he showed emotion?"

Spock quirked one side of his mouth up. "In his own way, yes. We communicated several times before I was captured, and he was unusually… open with me." He sobered and looked down. "I did not see him in person before he died. It happened while I was in the reprogramming center."

Jim leaned forward and kissed him, pulled him closer, and rested his head on Spock's shoulder. He appeared to take a stabilizing breath, and then said, "Tell me what happened to my mom."

"She…" Spock hesitated. "She reacted severely to your loss. I was the one who informed her, and she… she broke down, Jim." He tightened his hold. "She said harsh things. I fear that she blamed me for letting you go to the Vehsin ship." Jim made a noise of protest, and Spock shook his head. "I have accepted her words. She loved you, and was in pain. I understood her motives for saying the things she did."

"It wasn't your fault, though," Jim insisted. Spock lay in silence for a moment, not agreeing (privately, he thought Jim's mother had been entirely correct—he never should have let Jim go to that ship) but not saying anything either. He changed the subject slightly, steering it from this direction.

"Winona threw herself into the Earth evacuation efforts. She was planetside when the Vehsin began their initial attacks, and she helped thousands of children and their parents to escape ships, into safe houses, and off planet. She was killed in the same firefight where I lost the  _Enterprise_. She piloted a smaller ship into the engines of a Vehsin troop ship, allowing a final group of refugees to escape.

Jim huffed out a pained laugh. "What is it with Kirks and piloting ships into other ships?"

"It is an effective move," Spock commented, and Jim just buried his face further into Spock's neck.

 _/I won't drive the Yeht-gav into another ship, I promise/_  he transmitted through the bond, and Spock pulled back, regarding Jim with mock-sincerity.

"You certainly will not," he said. "I do not trust you not to scratch her hull. Have you any idea how difficult cosmetic repairs of a ship are when one is a rebel?"

Jim laughed, a real laugh this time. "What, no shiny new exterior panels at every station we come across?"

Spock opened his mouth to tease back, but his communicator chirped at him from the somewhere on the floor, and Stonn's voice drifted toward them, tinny over the frequency.

"Captain, we are approaching the moon of Nicros-IX. What are your orders?"

Spock leaned over, but winced before he was more than halfway off the bed and pressed his hand against his chest. Jim glared at him, silently reprimanding, and then leaned over, fished for a moment in Spock's discarded pants, and emerged victorious with his communicator, which he handed over.

"Scan for all possible atmospheric issues, and land in an area devoid of any life signs. We do not wish to interact with any possible hostiles. We would be ill-equipped to handle any confrontations at this time."

"Affirmative," Stonn responded, and Spock flipped the communicator shut.

"I need to report to the bridge," he said tiredly, and Jim nodded and began to get dressed. He handed Spock his pants, and Spock slowly pulled them on. After they were entirely dressed, Jim turned to him and smiled.

"I'm going to go back to help Bhaan in the engine room." His grin widened. "Our technology is apparently polar-opposite to Vehsin tech, and he's a little lost. I'd almost feel bad for him if he weren't a gigantic ass about it all."

Spock raised an eyebrow. "You are teaching him about our technology? Are you positive that is a wise course of action?"

Jim tapped his finger to his head. "Yea, trust me. I got a message a few days ago that was a 'shoot this guy on sight' direct from the Vehsin leaders. He's screwed himself so badly, there's no way he could ever go back to them. So he's stuck with us, and I figured he might as well learn some skills. He's crazy smart, has been picking everything up really fast." He leaned in and kissed Spock chastely. "You need help back to the bridge?"

"No, I am acceptable."

Jim nodded, and with another quick kiss, he was gone.

Spock limped back to the bridge and hoped that he had done the right thing by choosing this course.

('')

The moon on which they landed had no designated name, simply a number. It supported no life—it was a wasteland. Temperatures reached unbearable extremes in both the day and night, the atmosphere was comprised of sulfuric and acidic gasses, and the only 'moisture' was housed in vast oceans of sulfuric acid that occasionally evaporated into the atmosphere, only to be released as sudden torrential downpours on anyone unfortunate enough to be outside at the time.

There was a constant haze of airborne chemically-infused dust that wormed its way into space suits, burning and tearing in its path to find skin. The few times the _Yeht-gav_ 's crew was forced to venture outside, they doubled their suits but still invariably received chemical burns, regardless of their level of care to shield themselves from the elements.

There were electrical storms that struck without warning—violent affairs that made the hair on the back of the humanoids' necks stand up, and that interfered with telepathy, meaning that everyone aboard became victim to crippling headaches while the storms were raging.

As time dragged on in Hell (as Jim started calling it, and the name stuck) the crew remained optimistic as possible—making alterations to the ship that extended their communicator range, playing card games in the 'evening' to keep their spirits up (Stonn thought it was ridiculous, but participated none the less, and Bhaan was even coerced into playing once or twice) and experimenting with the replicators to make interesting concoctions.

But Spock watched the fuel levels, and fought a momentary panic when they dropped past the point where unless they were rescued, there would be no other option. Three weeks into their time on the moon they only had enough fuel to attain orbit and use life support. If they left, they would fly into the black and then suffocate.

Spock resolved that if the time came when sustaining life support would no longer be feasible, he would fly his ship off this moon. He would rather they die in space than be slowly dissolved by burning acid.

He did not tell anyone his decision, though Jim noticed that he was unusually silent that evening. He didn't press the issue—he trusted Spock to tell him when it became important.

('')

It had been six weeks on the demon moon, and Spock was outside, wrapped in two layers of thermal space-suit, attempting to manually extend the  _Yeht-gav's_ transmission network. Bhaan (likewise wrapped in heavy protective gear) tapped his shoulder to get his attention.

"The tricorder melted again," he buzzed through their communicator, and Spock sighed.

"We will need to go in soon, regardless. My temperature is passing into dangerous levels."

The communicator line to the ship crackled, heavily distorted even by the short distance between them and the bridge. "Spock, get back in here now," Jim's voice ordered. "You're too hot, your suit's going to fail within fifteen minutes."

"I am on my way to the decontamination chamber," Spock replied, and turned to Bhaan. "We must go."

Bhaan shook his head. "You know the heat doesn't bother me as much as it does you. I've got another hour before I need to go in."

Spock grabbed his arm and began towing him back toward the ship, bouncing slightly in the moon's low gravity. "Regardless, we do not have crew out alone at any time. The electrical storms are too unpredictable." Bhaan was silent, but allowed himself to be led back to the airlock.

Once they were inside and the pressure in the ship was stabilized, Spock pulled off his helmet, almost staggering when the heat of the ship hit him. The surface temperature of the moon was currently over 700°K, and as such, the ship was slowly warming, turning into an oven.

A few days ago, Bhaan had helpfully pointed out that their supply of oxygen would fail before it actually became too hot to survive within the ship, but no one aboard seemed to take much solace in that fact.

Spock hung up his suit (simply throwing away the outer shell—an acid shower had rendered it close to useless) and stepped into the sonic shower, relaxing slightly as he felt the effects of the moon's toxic atmosphere being washed from his body. After a moment, he stepped out and redressed in his jeans and t-shirt, and realized that Bhaan was watching him.

"Are you in need of assistance?" he asked, and Bhaan shook his head.

"You called me crew," the Vehsin buzzed, and Spock blinked at him.

"You serve aboard my ship. You assist us, take meals with us, travel with us," Spock responded stiffly. "By definition, you are a part of my crew. Your emotional response to the word is illogical."

Bhaan clicked his mandibles and looked down. "Still. It is… thank you."

"Thanks are illogical," Spock grumbled. He eyed Bhaan, who was still wearing his slowly dissolving protective suit. "Clean up and come to the bridge. Do not forget to decontaminate your suit. We do not have many left." Bhaan nodded, and Spock climbed out of the chamber, only feeling the slightest twinge of pain in his chest, the pull of new skin—his wound was almost entirely healed.

He wandered toward the bridge, in no particular hurry. The heat in the ship was oppressive, and it made him wonder which was worse—this sweltering that they'd experienced over the past few weeks or the bone-deep freezing that they'd been forced to deal with while in space.

Both options were equally distasteful he decided as he reached the bridge and the doors swished open. Stonn and Sybok were off duty, leaving only Jim to man the communication console. The human barely even glanced up as Spock came in—he was obviously miserable, stripped down just to boxers, boots, and an undershirt, and sweating heavily.

"You get in okay?" he mumbled, and Spock smiled slightly.

"I am here, therefore it is logical to assume—"

"Yea, yea," Jim cut him off. "Don't fault me for not thinking straight, it's like ninety degrees in here."

"Ninety-two point four," Spock clarified, and Jim huffed.

"Fuckin' hot, is what I call it. And I'm the only one on this ship that sweats, and therefore, I get to complain." Spock pressed his hand against Jim's forehead, and Jim sighed. "I'm  _fine_ , Spock, I've been drinking lots of water."

"You are overheated," Spock argued. "Go to our quarters, it is cooler there."

"No, I've got—" Jim cut off, blinking down at the console under his fingers. He stared for a second at the flashing lights, then swore and started hurriedly pushing buttons. "We've got an incoming message!" he exclaimed, and Spock turned to look at the console as well.

"It is encrypted," he muttered, but Jim just grinned and pressed a few more buttons.

"Hold on, hold on… I've got this…" With a flourish, he keyed in a quick sequence and then transferred the message to the view screen. "You're fucking brilliant, whatever you and Bhaan did," he said as the picture started to resolve.

And then Jim was shouting in happiness, and Spock was actually fully smiling, and on the view screen, Leonard McCoy was grinning.

"Holy shit, I honestly didn't think we'd see you two again," he said, and Jim grinned at him.

"Bones! You have no idea how good it is to see your face." Jim draped his arm around Spock's shoulders. "So you gonna come get us?"

"I'm just in a shuttle," Leonard said, "but I could tow you back to our base if you can get into orbit. What the hell are you doin' on a Y-class anyway? Ya got a death wish?"

"We are low on fuel and had to make the decision of landing here or proceeding to the Badlands," Spock told him, then turned his attention to his communicator, flicking it open and ordering the rest of the crew to the bridge.

On the screen, Leonard's face turned serious. "Good thing ya didn't go to the Badlands—the Vehsins have been sweeping the whole damn thing. It's not even close to safe anymore."

 _/glad you didn't listen to me, then/_  Jim transmitted through their bond, and Spock turned to him with warm eyes.

"So," Leonard asked, seeing the look, "I gotta ask, did things work out well for you?"

"Yea," Jim said, turning back to the screen. "I'm all here, memory intact and fully sane, and I bet you just can't wait to get some readings from me, you hypo-wielding maniac."

Behind them, the bridge doors slid open and Sybok and Stonn came in, followed a moment later by Bhaan. Leonard's face flashed with a complicated facial expression that somehow showed his happiness to see Sybok, his confusion to see Stonn, and his disgust with Bhaan.

"Uh," he drawled slowly, "you are aware you've got a bug aboard?"

"It's a story," Sybok interjected. "But Bhaan's all right."

"Well," Leonard replied, obviously unsure. "You'll need to fill me in. I guess… just get into orbit so I can beam over."

"Done and done," Jim said, smiling, and reached out to start up the ignition sequences. "Let's get the hell off this moon."

('')

Half an hour later, Leonard materialized on the  _Yeht-gav_ 's transport pad and stepped forward immediately, pulling Jim into a tight hug. Jim protested, but Leonard just clung tighter for a moment, then switched gears and pulled Spock into a hug as well. Spock winced at the pressure on his newly-healed chest, and Leonard pulled back, worried.

"The hell happened to you?" he asked gruffly, and whipped out his ever-present medical tricorder. He blanched when it reached Spock's chest, and the next instant, Spock found himself being dragged toward medical by Leonard, who was swearing under his breath.

"I am acceptable, my wounds have healed," he protested, and Leonard stopped long enough to glare at him.

"Wound _s_? Plural?" he growled, and Spock shut his mouth. Behind them, Jim laughed, and Spock shot an impression of 'save me' through their bond. Jim just laughed harder.

So, ten minutes after Leonard had stormed the ship, Spock found himself stripped to his boxers and being prodded by the surly doctor. Despite his best efforts to dissuade him, Leonard insisted on performing a full physical, only pausing long enough to threaten Jim with a "What're you laughing about? You're next, kid."

Finally though, Spock was able to stop Leonard's ministrations with a few calm words. "We are healthy enough to be towed back to a base. We would like to be reunited with the resistance—we have intelligence that will be useful."

"All right," Leonard reluctantly agreed. "But I want to look over everyone on this ship, including that Vehsin." He looked around the medbay in distaste—it was out of the order he liked to keep it in, but he could fix it with a little time. "Where are Sybok and… was that Stonn? Where'd you pick him up?" he asked.

"They're on the bridge," Jim told him. "And Bhaan—he's the Vehsin—is in the engine room. He hides there cause he doesn't like us."

"He hides there because Stonn has threatened his life no less than seventeen times," Spock corrected him, and Leonard grinned.

"Sounds like my kinda Vulcan," he said as they left the medbay and headed for the bridge. Jim chattered at him, starting to fill him in on everything that had happened to them so far, and Leonard listened raptly. Spock called up Bhaan and informed him that he should meet them on the bridge, where they could discuss what their next move was.

The three men stepped on to the bridge and Sybok and Stonn stood to greet them. Sybok grinned and slapped Leonard on the back, asked about Nyota, and allowed Bones to run a tricorder over him ("Nyota would kill me if I didn't do that straight off," Bones told him).

Stonn extended his hand in the  _ta'al_  and Leonard ran his tricorder over him as well. Stonn raised an eyebrow and Leonard nodded, obviously pleased that everything came out all right. He raised his own eyebrow back at Stonn. "Where's T'Pring?" he asked, and Stonn blinked at him.

"She died," he responded after a moment. Leonard cringed slightly but Stonn shook his head. "I have completed my grieving. I thank you for your concern, however."

Leonard nodded slowly, then smiled. "I hear you're terrorizing the Vehsin."

"Terrorizing is an incorrect descriptor," Stonn disagreed. "I merely have informed him that I am closely watching his actions."

Leonard barked out laughter and grinned at Stonn. "Oh, I  _like_  you."

Jim nudged Spock in the side and sent an image of Leonard and Stonn in a compromising position through their bond.

 _/I do not think that is likely/_  Spock responded, raising his eyebrow incredulously.

 _/you've never seen Bones flirt/_  Jim sent back, but Spock was saved further conjecture on the subject by Bhaan's entrance onto the bridge.

Leonard paused in his conversation with Stonn to run his tricorder over the Vehsin, frowning at the readings that showed up. "Jesus, how are you even alive?" he muttered, but then met the Bhaan's eyes. "I'm Doctor Leonard McCoy," he said. "And if you hurt anyone on this ship, I'll kill you myself. That being said, I'd love to hear the story behind how they hell you ended up here." And then he smiled.

Bhaan blinked at him and stuttered. Jim laughed and threw his arm over Bones' shoulders. "We'll get you up to speed," he promised. "But you gotta tell us what's happened to you since you evacuated Earth."

Leonard nodded. "Well, we headed to the Badlands first thing, and met up with the… maybe twenty? Resistance ships that were hiding out there. But we were followed from Earth, and the Vehsins started randomly blasting things. They threatened to start blowing up planets unless we gave ourselves up. Sulu—idiot that he is—broke through their blockade and trashed their major weapons, so we escaped. Everyone's spread out now, but we've been meeting up at… now Jim, don't freak out…"

Jim narrowed his eyes, and Leonard sighed. "We've been using Qo'noS as a safe base."

"The fucking Klingons?" Jim shot back. "A safe base with the  _Klingons_ …?"

Leonard held up his hand. "They're terrifying, and the Vehsins mostly leave 'em alone. Bhaan, tell him," he said gesturing between them. Bhaan looked startled to be asked to participate, but he nodded slowly.

"Klingons can easily withstand the physical effects of our telepathic weapons," he confirmed. "Any attack on them is planned far in advance and requires  _large_ amounts of soldiers. The rebels should be safe with them for… months. It will take at least that long to plan an attack."

"There ya go," Leonard said. "So listen, Jim. Klingons equal good, right now. Don't go around insulting them."

"Fine, fine…" Jim grumbled, and Spock ran a soothing hand along his back.

Leonard smiled at their interaction. "So was it good to pick up where you two left off?" he asked, and Jim's scowl vanished instantly.

"Yep," he said, bouncing slightly. "We're bonded, Bones! Proper Vulcan-married and everything." He smiled over his shoulder at Spock and brushed their fingers together. "Sorry you didn't get to be the best man," he said, turning back to Leonard, who waved him off with a snort.

"I'm glad I missed the bed-breaking sex," he grumbled, but he was smiling. "Anyway, we should get going—I need to check in with Nyota, and we've got a day or so of towing your asses before we're back in range."

He stood to head back to the transporter, and Stonn stood with him.

"If you do not mind, I will accompany you to your shuttle," he said, and Leonard smiled at him.

"Sure," he returned, and Stonn nodded.

"I will be able to inform you of the events that have occurred over the past months, as well as assist in attaching the tractor beam to the  _Yeht-gav._ "

"Sounds good to me," Leonard drawled, and they left. The door to the bridge closed on Stonn telling the story of Spock and Jim's time on the Vulcan colony ship. Jim sent Spock a pointed look (got an eyebrow in return) and laughed.

"We ready?" Sybok asked, and Spock nodded, taking his seat. It would be good to be reunited with their friends.


	15. The Plan

Bhaan watched the psychopathic Vulcan and the doctor dematerialize off the transport pad and let out a sigh of relief. He knew that Stonn was simply acting out of a place of mistrust, but damn if it wouldn't be nice to not be constantly looking over his shoulder, wondering if the Vulcan had chosen this moment to stick his rather frightening rifle to his head and pull the trigger.

He wandered toward the engine room (passing Jim, who twitched his mouth up in an almost-smile when he made eye contact) and settled down next to the deeply thrumming warp core, letting its hum soothe his frazzled nerves. Who knew it would be so stressful living on a ship with people you'd until recently seen as, at best, little more than tradable commodities?

He hadn't been prepared for this. Every second of his life, he'd been told that the people his empire was conquering were 'Less-Than.' They were supposed to be barbaric, unfeeling, savages—and he'd believed that, hearing reports of the rebellion's actions against his people, when all the Vehsins were doing was  _protecting_ their new charges from the universe, really…

He'd had no reason not to believe.

But then he'd met Sybok, and the Vulcan was a thinking, individual, intelligent being who was willing to put aside his past conceptions and help him, despite how he'd been treated at the hands of Bhaan's brothers. And as terrifying as Sybok could be, they worked well together—the Vulcan was easily as smart as Bhaan considered himself (maybe even more so), and if he hadn't had Sybok's help, he severely doubted he would have ever escaped the holding cells on Earth. And Sybok had kept his word once they'd been rescued, repeatedly telling his comrades to leave Bhaan alone, even once snapping at Stonn when the other vulcan was being particularly threatening.

And  _then_  there were Jim and Spock, obviously madly in love with one another (a concept that Bhaan found painful to think about, because exiled as he was from his people, he could never have a chance, not now) and willing to sacrifice anything for the well-being of their mate. Vehsin propaganda (because Bhaan was slowly realizing that it  _was_  propaganda) claimed that the conquered couldn't feel connections like love. But that was obviously wrong—after hearing what they'd gone through before being reunited, Bhaan had hidden for days from the sheer embarrassment of what his people had done to them.

And Stonn (the fucking bastard that he was) felt strongly enough about something to torment someone for no particular reason. Bhaan narrowed his eyes at the thought. Vulcans weren't supposed to 'feel' strongly about anything, but that was obviously wrong, too. And as much as he couldn't stand Stonn, he knew that the vulcan was well within his rights to act the way he did, along with the doctor who'd threatened to kill him as his way of a greeting.

Bhaan sighed and pressed closer to the warmth of the engines. Having your entire belief process upended over a course of few weeks was a bit mind-shattering.

And now they were headed to meet up with more of the rebel fighters, and Bhaan had a sneaking suspicion that he would find the rest of them to be individual, intelligent beings as well.

For the first time in his life, he had doubt. Yes, he'd come to the conclusion months ago that the princess Penna deserved to die, but now… he wrapped his arms around himself and shivered at the weight of his thoughts. On one hand, he was  _Vehsin_ , one of the most powerful beings in the universe. Technologically and mentally superior to all races that had been brought under their control… But on the other hand, he was  _Vehsin_ , a member of a mass-murdering race that ruled through cruelty and pain. The fact that he hadn't seen the truth until recently was of little importance.

"We're tyrants," he mumbled to himself, putting voice to the words that he'd been secretly thinking for weeks. "We deserve to be overthrown." He rested his head against the engine's cooling tanks and wished he was anywhere else but here.

('')

Spock was walking slowly through his ship, wandering aimlessly under the pretense of checking various systems. They'd be reunited with the  _Katana_  in a few hours, (three point nine two one seven seven, he thought idly) and then after another week of travel, they would reach Qo'noS. Past that, he did not know.

Exile, perhaps. Hiding. With the loss of Earth, the rebellion against the vehsins had likely been thrown into disarray. He doubted that many rebels would think to gather with the klingons, and they had barely been making a dent to begin with—without organization, the rebellion would now be less of a threat than ever.

His wanderings eventually took him to the engine room. He palmed open the door and walked to the control console, tapped in a few subroutines and looked over the readouts. The numbers seemed off slightly—not anything that seemed dire, but Spock couldn't pinpoint what was wrong. He twitched his mouth into the slightest of frowns—he would undoubtedly be on the receiving end of one of Scott's lectures once the man was reunited with the  _Yeht-gav_.

Spock was interrupted in his thoughts about being reunited with his crew by a quiet shuffling noise coming from around the back of the engine's cooling tanks. He inclined his head to the side—Bhaan was evidently hiding by the engines again. He stepped away from the console and circled the engines, coming to a stop directly in front of the vehsin.

"You prefer to sleep here rather than in your quarters," he observed, and Bhaan glanced up at him.

"Is that inappropriate?" Bhaan asked, and Spock shook his head, then crossed his legs and gracefully sank to the ground beside him.

"When we are rejoined by my Chief Engineer, he may wish for you to remain out of his way, however," Spock told him, and Bhaan nodded, though he looked unhappy.

They sat in silence for a moment, Spock wondering just when he gained the ability to read Bhaan's facial expressions, Bhaan looking around the engine room as if memorizing it. After a while, Bhaan let out a shaky breath.

"I've been meaning…" he trailed off and looked more miserable. Spock cocked an eyebrow but remained silent—Bhaan often had a difficult time putting words to his thoughts. He was mostly fluent in Standard, but still had to translate in his head before he spoke.

After another moment of contemplation and some quiet grating that was probably swearing, Bhaan continued. "I've been meaning to tell you that I'm sorry. I know my apologies mean little to you, but I am. I am realizing that my people deserve to be punished for what we've done." He inspected his claws and would not meet Spock's eyes.

"You are fully aware that we have no personal vendetta against you," Spock countered. "On the contrary, my crew and I are in your debt."

Bhaan shrugged. "I doubt the rebels we are flying to meet will see things that way. But I want Sybok and you and Kirk to know that I  _am_  sorry. No matter what happens to me once we reach the klingons, you need to know that you changed at least one Vehsin's mind." He looked up finally and his inkdrop eyes searched Spock's face. "We're not inherently evil. The majority of us just don't know any better—not that that's an excuse. Maybe our queen is insane. I don't know. But if I could choose another life, it wouldn't be one of war."

Spock stared at him—he'd never heard Bhaan speak like this before. Yes, the vehsin had expressed distaste and disgust when confronted with what his species had done, but he had never blatantly expressed his belief that they were in the wrong.

"You should speak your thoughts when we rejoin the other rebels," he said softly. "Your words may go a long way. We've never had a vehsin willing to speak to us."

Bhaan nodded. "We're supposed to go into a catatonic state if we're captured. It's a biological urge."

Spock raised an eyebrow in interest. "You have never felt this urge?"

Bhaan buzzed his odd laugh. "You've never treated me like a prisoner. And on Earth, I was furious enough to ignore it." He blinked. "I'm sure I could muster enough rage to ignore it if I felt it again."

Spock considered his words. "You were never treated as a prisoner because of your unique circumstances. You have expressed the desire to assassinate one of your Princesses. Would you willing to fight against the rest of your people, as well?"

Another of those buzzing laughs. "Are you asking me to be a rebel?"

"Yes," Spock said simply, and Bhaan went very still.

"Do you know what you're asking me to do?" he asked, strained, after a moment. "Could you betray your species? Your family?"

Spock pursed his lips slightly. "You have said that you are exiled, that you would be killed if you rejoined your people. You agree that what your people have done is wrong. You see that we are not the idiotic automatons your propaganda has painted us. You have already killed your own brothers to escape Earth." He paused. "And your knowledge is invaluable."

Bhaan waved a claw dismissively. "Kirk has the same knowledge."

Spock shook his head. "But he does not have the reference for which to understand all of it. You do."

They lapsed into silence again, and then Spock stood. "I am not asking that you physically fight. It is understandable that you would not wish to do so, but your intelligence could be priceless to what is left of the rebellion. Please think about this."

Bhaan looked up at him. "Kirk would be better placed in intelligence, as well. Are you going to let your bondmate fight?"

Spock looked steadily at him. "Not if there is a way I can stop him. I could not bear to lose him again."

"He won't be happy about that," Bhaan buzzed.

"No, he will not," Spock agreed, then nodded to him and left. Hopefully Bhaan would think about what he'd said. If he agreed to help the rebellion, they may have more of a chance than Spock had originally thought.

('')

 _Perhaps the most disparate facet of rebellion life_ , Spock mused as he watched the crew of the  _Katana_  greeting the crew of the  _Yeht-gav_  in Sulu's transporter room,  _is the reunions_.

While aboard the  _Enterprise_ , they had engaged in their fair share of reunions ranging from beaming back from a pleasurable shore leave to emergency rescue operations after botched away missions. And the mostly human crew had shown wide ranges of emotions—fear, joy, anger, confusion, sadness, relief—but the reunions of the  _Enterprise_ 's days paled in comparison to the reunions they currently experienced.

Perhaps when every day is so obviously precious, one's emotional state is put into sharp relief.

By the back wall, Nyota and Sybok were pressed together, heedless of the chaos of the rest of the room's occupants. They were kissing fiercely—he had his fingers settled gently over her psi points, and she was crying with happiness. Spock averted his eyes after a moment, allowing them their joy in private.

Sulu and Chekhov and Riley were hugging Jim, (Chekhov repeatedly babbling something about how he 'couldn't believe it' in Russian) and Spock caught a snippet of Sulu's ecstatic words—"I mean they  _told_  us, but holy  _shit_ , Captain! You're a fucking  _miracle!_ " Jim was beaming, ruffling Chekhov's hair, returning their hugs enthusiastically.

McCoy and Stonn were standing off to the side, conversing quietly—McCoy had a huge smile on his face, and Stonn even looked mildly pleased. Sybok had informed Spock that Stonn was possibly trying emotions on for size, and as Spock watched the doctor and his fellow Vulcan interact, he hoped briefly that Stonn found expressing his feelings acceptable.

However, Scotty and Keenser had cornered Bhaan (who appeared to be attempting to sink into the floor) and were questioning him rather harshly. Spock could practically feel the sparks of anger coming off the engineers—and he didn't blame them, as they had had no previous interaction with the vehsin. Still, terrorizing someone who Spock hoped would prove an asset to the rebellion was unacceptable.

"Commander Scott, Lieutenant Keenser," he said softly, walking over to them, and they looked up at him. Spock paused, considering his words. "Please," he said finally, "desist in your interrogations. As odd a statement as it may be, this vehsin has both proven useful to the efforts of the rebellion and has saved my life. Perhaps we should leave his debriefing to Admiral Pike."

Scotty snorted, and Keenser looked vaguely incredulous, but they abandoned their harassment in favor of taking a turn welcoming Jim back. Spock straightened his back and returned to watching the room. After a moment, he realized Bhaan was staring at him.

"May I be of assistance?" he asked. It was proving surprisingly easy to become protective of the vehsin—something he certainly never thought he would think at any point in his life.

"Thank you," Bhaan buzzed back, and Spock shook his head minutely.

"Thanks are illogical, and as is the constant terrorizing of your person. Additionally, it is unprofessional."

Bhaan made the grating noise that passed for his laughter. "Rebels, worried about professionalism," he muttered, but Spock noticed that he relaxed slightly, his armored body plates settling back into place from where he'd had them bristled up. They watched the crews mingle for a moment in silence before Bhaan asked, "Do you always spend so much time greeting one another?"

"No," Spock told him. "However, until recently Jim was considered dead, we have just returned from a near suicidal rescue mission, and were found on a violently dangerous moon despite the high probability of our demise. The emotions of the crews are highly charged."

Bhaan nodded. "Humans have that effect."

"They are a highly emotional species," Spock agreed, and smiled slightly when Jim glanced around the room, searching for him. He detached himself from Riley and Chekhov and came over, brushing his fingers over Spock's hand and nodding to Bhaan.

"Hikaru said we're already on a heading for Qo'noS, and we'll be there in six days," he told Spock. "We'll meet up with Pike and the rest of the resistance, and make a plan from there." He sobered slightly and looked at Bhaan. "I won't let anyone hurt you, okay? I want you to stick close to us or Sybok whenever we're with the other rebels—at least at first." Bhaan nodded and Spock felt a surge of affection for Jim. Only his human would be able to put differences aside and protect someone he didn't particularly like.

This idle thought obviously got through their bond, and Jim smiled at him before sending the thought  _/he's not so bad, I guess. he grows on you/_

 _/he does/_  Spock agreed.  _/though he has a unique ability to be simultaneously infuriating and helpless/_

Jim shrugged and laughed, and Bhaan looked confused. "Never mind," Jim told him. Around them, the happy reunion was breaking up, people headed back toward their stations. After everyone had left the transporter room, Spock manned the controls to beam himself, Jim, and Bhaan back aboard the  _Yeht-gav_ , in order to maintain readings on the ship. He wanted some more alone time with Jim, and he knew the Bhaan would want to retreat to his perceived safety in the engine room.

As they disappeared in a smear of white, Spock allowed himself to take a deep breath. Six more days. Six more days, and action, of one kind or another, would be taken.

('')

Four days later, Spock was on the bridge, double checking the tractor beam that connected the  _Yeht-gav_  to the  _Katana._ He was exhausted from worry about how the reunion with the rest of the rebels would go—would they kill Bhaan on sight? Would the klingons attempt to imprison Jim? Would they be told that the war was as good as over, that they should abandon their fight and live under vehsin rule for the rest of their lives? Would that really be so terrible?

It didn't help that he hadn't slept in almost three days—instead, he had spent his nights lying next to a sleeping Jim, watching him breathe and listening to his heartbeat. They'd been reunited for months, so why was he suddenly so terrified that Jim would disappear again? It was illogical.

He shook his head and realized he had almost drifted off on the bridge, so he shakily stood and let himself out, headed back to his and Jim's quarters. He palmed the door open through a slight yawn that he quickly cut off when confronted by the sight on their bed.

Jim was sprawled on his stomach, a PADD in hand displaying the more advanced weapons array that Spock had retrofit onto the  _Yeht-gav_  to supplement her original, weaker weapons. He had a slight frown on his face. A dim reading light illuminated his features, accenting the different shades of blonde in his shaggy hair, and threw his thin face into sharp contrast against the dark metal of the bunk. As Spock watched, he licked his lips unconsciously and glanced up, the frown turning to a small smile when he saw Spock.

"Hey," Jim said, and Spock's breath caught in his throat. Jim blinked, suddenly concerned. "What?"

Spock shook his head slightly and came to sit on the bed next to him. He rested his hand on Jim's back and rubbed slightly, his fingers pushing almost unconsciously at a knot in Jim's lower back. After a moment, Jim rolled over, dropping the PADD and pulling Spock down in the same movement. He guided Spock's head to his chest and wrapped his arms around his bondmate, tangling their legs together. "What's wrong?" Jim asked softly.

"I do not know," Spock told him, and through their bond, he felt Jim's confusion. He attempted to work his thoughts into a more coherent pattern. "I have been irrationally concerned that… that you will leave me."

Jim laughed shakily. "What? Is that why you haven't been sleeping?"

Spock pushed himself up on his elbows. "You were aware of my altered sleep patterns?"

Jim gave him an exasperated look. "Of course, Spock. But so not the point right now. Why would you think I'd leave?" He reached up and brushed back Spock's bangs, then cupped his jaw. "Never parted, right?"

Spock stared at him for a moment, then glanced down at the PADD. Jim had been making notes on how to increase their weapons range, and Spock felt a tightness curl in his abdomen. He looked back up at Jim. "I do not want you to fight in any altercations we may have with the Vehsins. It is unsafe."

Jim dropped his hand and took a deep breath. Their bond thrummed with his thinly veiled annoyance. "You can't ask me that. I'm not going to quit this fight because you think it's unsafe. Of  _course_  it's unsafe, Spock. But that's never stopped us before."

"The parameters of the struggle have changed," Spock argued. "Our forces are depleted—guerrilla attacks on transport vessels and bases will not have the same affect. Your intelligence, combined with Bhaan's analysis, will give us opportunities that we have not previously experienced. But our actions now will likely be higher risk, and I… I cannot lose you again. I would prefer to hide in exile for the rest of our lives."

Jim searched his face for a long minute, then lifted his head and kissed him softly. "We can't go into hiding."

Spock swallowed. "I am aware."

Jim kissed him again and pulled him back down, buried his face in Spock's hair. "Then we're just gonna have to be amazing and not die," he whispered. "Remember—no such thing as no-win."

Spock remained silent and tried to believe Jim's words.

('')

The day before the combined crews were set to reunite with the rest of the rebels, Bhaan found Spock in the mess.

"I would like to fight alongside you," he said, and Spock nodded.

"This is exceptional news," he understated, and Bhaan laughed bitterly.

"I also want to tell you some things before we meet up with the rebels," he buzzed out, and Spock raised an inquisitive eyebrow. "Just—" Bhaan hesitated. "They might kill me on sight."

"Not if we can help that," Spock interrupted, and Bhaan waved a claw dismissively.

"They still might. And I have some things you should know."

Spock leaned forward and listened. And hours later, after Bhaan had finished unloading his unique knowledge and Spock was lying in bed with Jim, he finally allowed himself to feel a faint stirring of hope.

('')

Their next reunion, this time with the rest of the rebels, could have gone better.

Despite warning the base's technicians that they would be beaming down with a defected vehsin, Bhaan's presence threw the rebels into a near panic. Spock, Jim, Sybok, Uhura, and Bhaan were greeted by bristling weapons and furious faces, and in a span of about thirty seconds after their beam down, Bhaan was forcibly dragged from the transport pad, divested of his weapons, and marched out of the room in the direction of what could only be the holding cells.

Sybok followed, yelling loudly about Bhaan's contributions to the rebel effort, but was soundly ignored. Spock closed his eyes and hoped that his brother's presence would at least stop Bhaan from being immediately executed—though it obviously hadn't stopped his incarceration. But right now, there was nothing else he could do.

Behind him, the transport whirred into life again, depositing Sulu, Chekhov, Scotty, Riley, and Keenser on the pad. Once they'd vacated the space, it whirred a final time, bringing down McCoy and Stonn. In the same second that those two fully materialized, a detachment of fifteen extremely large klingons burst into the room, weapons drawn.

After a few seconds of yelling, during which it became apparent that the klingons were here to arrest Jim (they apparently had wholeheartedly supported the vehsins' execution of the war criminal Kirk) the  _Yeht-gav_  and  _Katana's_  crews drew their weapons as well.

"We must simply detain him for questioning," growled the largest of the klingons, apparently unfazed that Scotty and Sulu were both pointing plasma rifles directly at his face.

"Like hell you will," McCoy snapped back, and Spock tried to discretely position himself in front of Jim while maintaining his aim on a klingon he recognized as one Jim had personally shot in a bar several years ago.

He took a breath and felt Jim practically vibrating with rage behind him. / _knew this was a bad idea/_  he caught through their bond, and he minutely nodded. One of the klingons cocked her gun, and the transporter room suddenly filled with the whine of energy weapons powering up.

This was going to be very bad very quickly. Spock considered how angry Pike was going to be with them (he'd had one instruction when they'd contacted him to say they were coming in—'No fighting with the klingons') and if he would more or less furious if he and Stonn simply nerve pinched everyone in the room. He doubted they could move fast enough to fully subdue everyone.

But just as fingers began to twitch toward triggers, Pike strode through the narrow doors that led toward the bowels of the base and barked out, "Stop it now! Everyone stand down!"

Somewhat surprisingly, Spock thought, everyone did.

To the klingons, Pike snapped, "I  _told_  you he was coming, and you agreed that was fine." The klingon commander grumbled something about not believing what Pike had told them, but Pike had already spun to the rebel crews and was berating them.

"One thing, I asked  _one thing_ , and you couldn't even get out of the transport room without starting a fight." There was some shuffling, and then the sound of weapons powering down and being holstered.

Spock momentarily wondered how Pike had the ability to take battle-hardened soldiers and make them feel like school children. But then Pike was gesturing to him and Sulu and Jim, and they followed him out of the transporter room at a pace that was swift enough to make talking difficult.

They reached a private conference room and Pike keyed in a code to allow them entrance. He gestured them in wordlessly, and they filed past him, taking seats around one end of a long table that dominated the room. Pike settled himself at the head of the table and took a breath.

"We've got ten minutes or so before the other captains of the ships taking refuge here join us, and I want to ask you a few questions," he said.

Jim leaned forward. "I'm not a captain, Chris." He shot a glance at Spock and smiled slightly. "Don't want to be, just want to be with Spock." Spock gave him the equivalent of a mental hand squeeze through their bond.

Pike blinked and looked between the two of them. "I didn't think… anyway, you're the  _subject_  of the meeting, Jim. I figured you'd want to be involved." He leaned back in his chair. "Well, you and the vehsin prisoner."

"He was not a prisoner until he reached this base," Spock interjected. "He was promised safety, and that promise was not delivered upon."

Jim nodded in agreement and crossed his arms. "He's disconcerting at first, Chris, but he's valuable, and he's really not that bad. Plus he's learning, and he wants to defect and join our cause. And he saved Spock's life,  _and_  helped Sybok escape. He's got a unique perspective and we can use that."

"You've got a unique perspective," Sulu commented, and Pike's eyes flicked back to Jim.

"So it's true? You have access to vehsin intelligence?"

Jim shifted uncomfortably in his seat. "Yea. But there's so much, I can't even comprehend it all. Spock showed me how to block it off, and I can access specific sections if I want to, but Bhaan—"

"We're not discussing the vehsin right now. I want to hear about what they did to your brain," Pike said, but Jim frowned.

"This ties in," he said tightly, and after a moment of rather annoyed silence, Pike nodded. Jim continued, "Bhaan provides the context. Really well, actually. Say I get a message for a shift in troop movements to some planet. I could wade through background information for hours trying to figure out what the vehsins want to accomplish by moving their troops, or I could ask Bhaan. He can usually explain in a few minutes what would have taken me hours or days to figure out myself. He was pretty high up in their command structure—he knows why they do what they do."

"Indeed," Spock agreed. "He was framed for the murder of two of their royalty, seemingly by random chance. He happened to be walking past the room in which the murder occurred, and was a convenient scapegoat. It was an egregious mistake on the vehsins' part."

"All right, all right," Pike said, holding up his hands in a gesture of surrender. "We'll discuss this more in depth when the rest of the captains get here. But I can promise you that your pet vehsin hasn't been harmed."

Spock could feel Jim's displeasure radiating through their bond, so he cleared his throat and steed the subject away from Bhaan. "Admiral," he said, "how many ships do we have on Qo'noS?"

Jim shot him an 'I-know-what-you're-doing' look but remained silent—he was interested to know the rebels' firepower as well.

Pike leaned back in his chair and sighed. "We've got thirteen ships, including your two, but six of them are operating with half-crews and another three have damaged instruments. At least the Klingons are willing to sell us dilithium, or we'd be grounded permanently. That attack on Earth hurt us."

Sulu shook his head. "There's still the chance of other ships getting our messages and coming to meet up, isn't there?"

"We haven't heard from anyone else in weeks," Pike said dully. "We've got another fifty or so ships that haven't checked in—some we haven't heard from in months, going back to even before the attack on Earth. They could be dead or captured or they could have abandoned the fight. There's no way to tell."

"It would be illogical to rely on the possibility of reinforcements, in that case," Spock mused, and steepled his fingers together, feeling the slight hope Jim had talked him into over the past few days dying. He shook his head. There was still Bhaan's information to consider.

Behind them, the door to the conference room slid open and various beings started to file in—captains and their first officers, probably. Several people Jim obviously recognized from Starfleet's dealings came over to shake his hand or have a quick word. Others that he didn't know nodded toward Pike or stared at him with interest. A few (klingons mostly, though a romulan had a similar reaction) glared at him. Chekhov slid in and settled next to Sulu, and Spock wondered where Sybok was at the moment. This meeting was important, but perhaps guarding Bhaan was more so.

Finally, Pike stood—apparently everyone was here who was supposed to be—and cleared his throat. "All right, everyone. I've called this meeting so we can discuss our developments in intelligence. Most of you probably recognize him, but this is James Kirk." He looked at Jim, who turned and flashed a smile at the assembled group. There were some smiles, a few grumbles, and general muttering, and Pike held up his hand, effectively quieting the group. "I'm going to let Jim explain his experience with the vehsins."

Pike sat down. Jim swiveled in his chair and leaned to the side, resting on an armrest in a familiar cocky manner that almost made Spock's breath catch in his throat. As Jim slipped into captain-mode and started to speak, filling the rest of the rebels in on the vehsin intelligence that he housed in his head, Spock realized there was no way he would be able to protect Jim from the fight that surely was to come.

He numbed his side of their bond to shield these thoughts from Jim and fought a rising surge of foreboding.

('')

Almost six hours later, they were still in the conference room, though the questions about various vehsin activities had died down somewhat. Jim looked exhausted—several times over the course of this debriefing he'd had to dig into the information in his head to answer questions that the captains had voiced. Spock found himself exhausted as well—Jim's stress was seeping through their bond and was making him irritable.

"Perhaps this questioning would be expedited if Commander Bhaan were present," he suggested tensely during a short lull in the conversation. "As we have mentioned eleven times thus far, he can better provide context for which this information may be understood." Jim shot him a grateful look, but most of the captains glowered.

"Why should we trust the vehsin?" a human woman that Spock didn't recognize asked. "How do we know it won't betray us?"

"Because," Jim grated out, his head in his hands, "of what I've told you. One, he was framed for murder of two of their royalty. Two, he's been labeled 'shoot on sight' for any other vehsins. Three, he helped Sybok escape the holding cells on Earth. Four, he saved Spock's life in that same battle on Earth, and five, he was invaluable when we were stuck on that demon moon."

"He has also voiced his disillusionment with his people and his desire to assist the rebel cause," added Spock. There was a moment of silence, and then Pike sighed.

"All right, let's bring him in. We can at least hear what he has to say." He gestured for an andorian aide to go gather Bhaan, and once the xe left the room, the assembled commanders burst into arguing again.

Jim slouched in his chair and Spock reached under the table, finding his hand and squeezing. Jim glanced at him.  _/why are they being so stubborn? Bhaan could be helpful/_

 _/they have no reason to believe that he is what he says he is/_  Spock silently sent back, and Jim sighed.

 _/they should believe_ us, _then. you're one of the leaders of this whole rebellion, right? why aren't they listening to you?/_

Spock contemplated this for a moment before answering.  _/I have a reputation of being.../_  He sent Jim the memories of a few rather wild missions he'd engaged in, and Jim raised his eyebrows.

_/reckless much, Spock?/_

Spock nodded slightly. "Perhaps impulsive is a more apt descriptor," he said aloud, and Jim shook his head exasperatedly.

"Stop being all touchy-feely," Pike muttered, and Jim glared at him, but Pike shrugged slightly before continuing quietly, "You'll make the klingons uncomfortable."

Jim immediately snapped, "I don't give a  _damn_  what the kli—" and Spock squeezed his hand tightly, cutting him off. "Ow," Jim grumbled, pulling his fingers away.

 _/please do not make them angrier with you than they already are/_  Spock reprimanded, and Jim sighed.

"Fine."

Their quiet conversation had gone unnoticed by most of the commanders present—everyone was still too busy arguing with one another to pay much attention to their subdued words. Spock turned his focus back to the table in time to hear Commander Whr'nk growl "Anyone not listen what the vehsin say is traitor to cause," and Spock almost smiled.

He knew he'd liked that bear-alien. The rest of the room quieted to soft grumbles, no one willing to act the part of traitor once the accusation had been voiced.

A moment later, there was collective intake of breath when the door to the room slid open and a heavily-restrained Bhaan was escorted in by two large klingon guards, followed closely by Sybok. Pike waved the guards away and Sybok guided Bhaan toward where Spock and Jim were sitting, his hand resting protectively on the Vehsin's shoulder. Spock raised an eyebrow—both he and Sybok usually avoided touching Bhaan at all costs. Apparently Sybok had decided that reassuring Bhaan was more important than the inevitable headache he'd acquire from touching the vehsin.

Bhaan took a deep breath and sat down between Jim and Spock. Sybok settled nearby, and Jim leaned over, his eyes searching Bhaan's frame. "Are you all right? No one hurt you?"

"Not badly," Bhaan buzzed back, and Spock was unable to suppress his frown.

He looked up at Pike. "Commander Bhaan is not our prisoner," he said icily, and Bhaan shot him a worried look. Spock gestured to his wrists. "Why is he bound? Is this how we would have treated any other defector of any other war? I was unaware imprisonment was policy for those who wish to assist us."

The tension in the room crackled, but then Whr'nk pounded a heavy paw on the table. "Unhook him, Spock right. We not savage." There was a general murmur in the room, but finally a Klingon (who Spock assumed was in charge of this base) stood and produced a key. He leaned over and unhooked the heavy chains from around Bhaan's wrists. They fell to the table with a clang that again silenced the room. All eyes were on Bhaan, who turned nervously to Spock.

"Tell them what you told me on the bridge," Spock prompted.

Bhaan straightened his back and took another deep breath, then turned to address the room. "I know how to win your war," he said softly.

His statement was greeted with silence, and Spock took a cue from Sybok and lay a reassuring hand on the Vehsin's shoulder, suppressing a flinch as the Vehsin's biology made his skin crawl with subtle telepathic interference. "Go on, Bhaan."

"You need to kill our queen," Bhaan said after a moment of obvious discomfort. "If you can get an agent near her, someone who is capable of killing her, everyone else will fall from there."

"Why would that matter?" snapped a klingon. "Someone else will just take over."

Bhaan shook his head and launched into a detailed explanation of how his race's lives were tied to the queen. "After her death," he concluded, "there would be initial panic. You would still have to fight commanders on the same level as I am—we wouldn't die with her. But they would quickly lose their supporters when all the third levels die, which would only take a week or so. After that, it is just a matter of… mopping us up." He looked down and inspected his claws, and Spock felt Jim's surge of pity for the vehsin through their bond.

The room remained again silent after Bhaan's revelation until Pike turned to Jim.

"Did you know about this?"

"Not specifically," Jim said slowly. "I probably could have pieced it together over some time, but there's nothing explicit about this bit of information anywhere in my storage."

"He told me while we were in prison," Sybok offered. Bhaan glanced at him.

"But I didn't tell you where my—the queen is," he said softly. "Or how to get to her." He shifted his gaze to Spock. "I'm sorry," he said, even quieter. "But I can't think of any other way."

Spock leaned back, alarmed. They hadn't discussed this except in the most general of terms—how to get someone close enough to kill the queen. And suddenly, Spock knew what Bhaan was going to propose, and he  _hated_  it.

Bhaan turned and addressed the group again. "It would be impossible to break through her defenses by force—not until the soldier level has begun to die. She'll be surrounded by thousands of soldiers, hundreds of commanders." He paused. "I want to stress again that force will not work. We would be outnumbered a hundred to one.

"There is, however, another option, though it may be… unpleasant." He glanced at Spock, then quickly looked away when confronted with the quiet anger Spock was sure he was showing on his face. "I can talk to Kirk and we can use his knowledge of troop movements to pinpoint where she's currently hiding—she moves her location relatively frequently, and there are always decoys, but I can pinpoint where she is," he said quickly, speaking as if he'd rehearsed this. He probably had.

"Once we figure out where she'll be, I can go to her with a prisoner." Another pause. "Kirk." Bhaan pointedly did not look at Spock, who took a sharp breath next to him, despite the fact that he had known that was what Bhaan was about to suggest. He felt Jim gently prodding at their bond, asking Spock to open up, but he simply closed down further.

Bhaan continued. "I can claim that I want redemption, that I'm bringing Kirk to her as a peace offering. And since Kirk is the most wanted fugitive in her empire, she'll see me. I know how she works—I've actually interacted closely with her for many years." He paused again, and even through his anger, Spock could see that he was very upset. He'd never considered what kind of relationship Bhaan may have had with his queen mother. He abruptly felt sick as well as furious, and forced himself to refocus on Bhaan's words.

Bhaan was mid-sentence when Spock caught up again. "…she'll want to kill him herself. And there is literally no other way to get close to her. She's simply too well guarded."

"Once in her viewing chambers, we can kill her with the weapons we've concealed on our person, as well as her immediate guards, then barricade ourselves in her rooms and wait for extraction." He leaned forward. "This plan is not going to be easy. People may still die. It will still be dangerous, there will still be a fierce battle—my brothers will not simply fall over dead when the queen dies.  _But_  once she  _is_  dead, the soldiers will begin to lose their will to fight. It will only get easier as time progresses. If we can stay secured for… two days, perhaps three, there should be no serious troubles retrieving us." He looked around the room, still avoiding Spock. "You will win your war," he finished, and fell silent.

Spock leaned forward, his head spinning—the plan was a good one, but. But Jim, and that much danger… "No," he said. "It is too dangerous."

There was silence in the room, and Spock glanced around, saw that he was on the losing side of this argument. His nausea increased.

"We're supposed to just trust you not to  _actually_  turn Jim over?" Sulu asked suddenly, and several captains furrowed their brows, then nodded in agreement. Spock was momentarily grateful someone was at least putting up some sort of argument. Sulu leaned back and crossed his arms, regarding Bhaan distrustfully. "Would they give you your 'redemption' if you handed him to your queen?"

" _And_  you would be turning over our only real asset we've gained since this war began," added an Orion—Spock recognized him from a few raids he had participated in after he'd stolen his ship. He thought his name was Hubin, and was unsurprised that he saw Jim as a commodity, rather than a person. Still, there were more nods and murmurs of assent.

"He wouldn't be pardoned," Jim threw out. "Vehsins don't do pardons. Plus, Bhaan's supposedly killed two princesses. There's no way." Spock shot him a look. Was he actually vouching for this insane plan?

"Then why would they believe you?" Pike asked, addressing Bhaan.

The Vehsin shrugged. "The queen views males of our species as idiots. She would believe that this is something one of us would try. She thinks that the desire to be part of our hive would override common sense."

"Does it?" asked a klingon, and Bhaan turned to look him directly in the eye and clicked his mandibles in annoyance.

"Fortunately, I am an individual. While the thought of dooming my entire species to a slow and painful death disturbs me, I believe we deserve it."

Silence greeted his statement, and a few of the captains looked confused that such words were coming out of a vehsin's mouth.

Spock shook his head, then turned and looked at Jim, the rest of the occupants of the room suddenly inconsequential. "Jim, you were tortured for years the last time you went alone into a vehsin stronghold. This is too dangerous."

Jim stared back at him. "Can you think of anything else?"

"Perhaps—perhaps… not at the moment, but surely…"

"Spock," Bhaan said, reaching out and fitting a claw over Spock's arm. He jerked back as if burned and Bhaan dropped his hand and took a breath. "Jim let me look into his mind earlier, on the ship."

"What?" Spock snapped, turning to Jim.

"Look, I got a big message, a bunch of troop movements," Jim told him, then remembered their audience and addressed the rest of the room as well. "I went to Bhaan so he could interpret it. The Vehsins know where we are."

The room erupted, and Pike turned to Jim, aggravated. "Why didn't you say anything earlier?"

Jim stared back, his face stony. "We're at a meeting, aren't we? I wouldn't have let you leave without saying something."

Pike glared at him and shook his head, swore under his breath. Then he turned to the rest of the commanders and shouted, "Quiet! Let him talk!" When no one seemed to show any inclination of quieting down, he banged his hand hard on the table and raised his voice further. "I said quiet!" he thundered. This seemed to finally catch everyone's attention, and slowly the focus of the room returned to Jim.

"The vehsins know we're here," Jim repeated. "They're going to attack soon." He turned to Bhaan, who nodded in agreement and continued:

"They are readying an attack. The aim is to wipe out the last of the resistance. To be truthful, I've never seen this kind of a show of power—I believe they are seeing this stronghold as the last of the rebellion's force. They think that if this base is destroyed, they will have conclusively won the war." He looked around the conference room and said slowly, "We have, at most, a few days. Perhaps a week."

Jim reached under the table and stroked his fingers down Spock's wrist. "There's no time for anything else. It's the best plan we're going to get."

"It is suicide," Spock said, forcing himself to sound calm.

"Not really," Jim countered. "Bhaan and I'd just have to hold off a few people for a couple days while we waited for the soldiers to lose their will to live. Then we could be extracted. Not even a big deal."

Spock tilted his head. The rest of the room did not need to hear his and Jim's argument, so he addressed him silently.  _/do you think I am an idiot/_

_/no…/_

_/you are fully aware of the dangers of this mission. barricading yourself for a 'few days' and hoping for extraction is signing yourself up for a death warrant/_

_/there's no other choice/_

Spock mentally calculated in a split second.  _/you have a three point one percent chance of returning unscathed, and a seven point nine chance of returning at all/_

_/better than the zero percent chance we'd have if we stayed here/_

_/we could run/_

_/no/_

_/I will not allow this/_

Spock felt Jim's anger lash through their bond and flinched hard against it. He was vaguely aware that he and Jim were glaring at one another, and the rest of the room was watching them.

_/you don't fucking get to tell me what to do, Spock/_

_/you should not throw your life away on a suicide mission/_

"So what if it's a suicide mission?" Jim snapped aloud, unable to control himself any longer. "We'd win the war! Bones could see his daughter again, Sybok and Uhura could start a family, people wouldn't live in fear anymore!"

Spock stared at him, then turned to Bhaan. "Would your chances of a successful infiltration be raised if you came with the offering of multiple prisoners?"

Jim paled and shook his head, but Bhaan nodded. "Yes," he buzzed.

Spock blocked his side of the bond and then shifted slightly in his seat. "Then I will go with you as well."


	16. Infiltration

Spock and Jim beamed back to the  _Yeht-gav_  in a very strained silence. No one else accompanied them, as the rest of the crew had accepted rooms on the planet for the night. Even Bhaan remained planetside, which was a surprising turn of events. When Spock had half-heartedly questioned him, he had muttered something about not being cowardly, and waved them off before triple locking his door behind him. Spock had a sneaking suspicion that Bhaan did not desire to be present for Jim and his inevitable fight.

The thought of sleeping on a base surrounded by klingons had not even crossed Spock's mind. The very suggestion made his skin crawl—it was stupid and unsafe, despite Pike and klingons' assurances that Jim would remain unharmed. And while he was aware that his viewpoint was likely xenophobic and highly illogical, not even war and rebellion would make Spock trust a klingon. Besides, it had been so long since he had slept on a planet that he was certain he would be unable to rest without the quiet hum and vibration of his ship.

Not that he was expecting  _rest_ , tonight, no. Because in the morning, the ships that were capable of making the journey would be refueled and they would leave for the Vehsin queen's stronghold.

Spock and Jim stepped off the transporter pad and into the  _Yeht-gav_ and Spock immediately strode from the room, not waiting to see if Jim would follow. He did, though (of course he did, Jim would never abandon him) and Spock listened to Jim's footfalls on the metal deck a few paces behind him. They were not walking in unison, and this fact was suddenly abhorrent to Spock—they were always in unison, their footfalls had rung simultaneously even when Jim had only been on the ship for a few days. He adjusted his stride, and behind him, Jim snorted in a strange sort of angry amusement.

Spock palmed open the door to their quarters with enough force to make a clear noise of flesh hitting metal on the sensor and went in, sat at the desk, and turned to Jim. He had stopped just inside the door, his arms crossed, his face thunderous. Spock resisted the urge to flinch. He was not the one who was in the wrong.

"So are we gonna talk like adults now, Spock?" Jim asked flatly, his voice deceptively calm.

Spock raised an eyebrow. "Was it childish of me to offer to accompany my bondmate on a highly dangerous mission? Or was it childish of you to plan said mission without my knowledge?"

Jim dropped his arms, and his face crumpled for a second before hardening again. "I didn't get a chance to tell you. I talked to Bhaan—"

"You did not  _talk_  to Bhaan," Spock said forcefully, and stood. Jim rocked back in surprise, and Spock realized he had unconsciously lowered his mental barriers and his anger (no,  _fury_ , he was far past anger) was seeping into Jim. He snapped his walls up again before forcing out, "You let Bhaan into your head. You did not _tell_  him anything, you let. him. in."

Jim frowned. "That's… why are you upset about that? And damn it, unblock your side of the bond, it feels terrible."

Spock did not unblock his side of the bond. In the back of his mind, he knew he undoubtedly would before the night was out, (being disconnected from Jim  _was_ unpleasant) but right now? He was furious, and he was not about to either subject Jim to the full extent of his anger, nor give him the solace of connection. So instead, he blanked his face entirely and slid into parade rest. "You let a Vehsin into your mind," he said calmly, and tilted his head slightly. "Your actions were dangerous and illogical."

Jim narrowed his eyes at Spock's stance and tone. "Don't go all fucking vulcan on me, Spock," he warned, and Spock raised an eyebrow.

"Do you prefer me to show my emotions? Would you rather I be more human to suit your needs?"

Jim pulled at his hair, frustrated. "You know I don't want you to be human," he said angrily. "But I don't understand why you're mad at me. You need to  _tell_  me, not act all stoic and shit when I  _know_  you're angry."

"Do not be obtuse," Spock hissed. "You have treated me as if I have no say in your actions."

"You  _don't_  have say in my actions!" Jim shouted, taking a step forward, invading Spock's space in their tiny quarters. "You're not—you can't—"

"We are  _bonded_ , Jim," Spock shouted back, unable to control his swirling mental state any longer. "We  _do_  have say in one another's actions, and you made plans—by allowing a  _vehsin_ , one of the people who ripped us apart, into your  _head_ —to take you away from me! To go to your inevitable death!" He stopped speaking, breathing heavily, and reached down to place a steadying hand on the desk by his hip. He looked down, as he found he could no longer meet Jim's eyes.

There was a shuffle, and Jim's feet slid into view. One hand wrapped gently around Spock's waist, and the other stroked along his jaw.

"I'm sorry," Jim whispered, and Spock forced his gaze up. Jim was—he had tears in his eyes, and Spock frowned.

"Jim—"

Jim shook his head, cutting him off. "No, you're right. I shouldn't have done that, all of that. I should have talked to you first."

"Why did you not?" Spock asked, and was terrified of the answer. He was suddenly, horrifically, illogically, certain that Jim was regretting their bonding, that he was finding Spock too… too  _broken_  to be a suitable mate, too…

"Let me in?" Jim asked, sensing Spock's distress. He leaned closer, resting his forehead against Spock's. After a moment of indecision, Spock relented and lowered his barriers. He felt Jim's emotions wash over him, the heavy thud of fear and insecurity, the need to protect, desire, love—

_images of pain, the tortures they had both experienced, and for the first time, Spock is aware that his own suffering far surpassed what had been done to Jim. physically as well as mentally, the latest years of Spock's life had been nothing but agony. Jim had not had memories that plagued him, had not felt the ripping tear of familial bonds severed, had not been driven into the realm of insanity._

_/alone and unaware is much easier than alone and broken, surrounded by phantoms/ Jim told him, and wrapped his self around Spock, trying to give comfort._

_/protect, save, shelter/_

_Jim could not bear the thought of Spock suffering more, could not handle the thought of Spock breaking further, only wanted to protect him, keep him alive, keep him safe._

Jim pulled back from Spock's mind slightly, leaving only lingering ghosts of protective worry and lovelovelove and Spock wrapped himself around Jim, body and mind, and clung tightly.

"You cannot protect me in that way," he said softly, his anger with his human entirely gone.

"I have to try," Jim whispered back.

Spock nodded against his skin and then continued, so quietly he was almost unsure of he had spoken aloud or projected directly into Jim's mind. "We will die on this mission."

"Probably." Jim led him over to their bed and sat them both down on it. They clung together for long moments, breathing one another's air, seeking solace in their bondmate's arms.

"We will be seen as martyrs," Spock murmured, pressing close.

"They'll build statues," Jim agreed, and tilted his head slightly, trailed his lips softly over Spock's neck. Spock concentrated on the feel of Jim's lips against his skin. He would miss this, he decided.

"We may not—" Spock couldn't finish his thought. He tightened his grip around Jim's waist, slid a hand under Jim's sweater and pressed against the small of his back.

Jim always knew what he was saying, though, so it didn't really matter. "I know. But tonight's ours,  _ashayam_. And I love you so goddamn much." He kissed Spock's neck again, then moved to his cheeks, his eyes, his ears, his mouth, and Spock began to pull clothes from both of their bodies.

He took his time, revealing Jim's skin inch by inch, trailing his fingers everywhere, letting them trace scars and dips and divots, reading Jim's story of each through his skin—a fight with other prisoners, a punishment for insubordination, torture for torture's sake. He touched the hard mass of scar tissue in Jim's leg that gave him a limp, that starburst on his temple that he had so far previously avoided.

And Jim touched him too. Human fingers that had never lost their exotic appeal stroked the still new and sensitive dark green scars on Spock's chest, a half-moon curve along one side of his neck where he'd once almost had this throat slit, a hollow in his hip where bone had been cut away because of infection, the raised white lines on his arms. But then those fingers shifted focus, tracing his eyebrows and ears, guiding his face to meet Jim's for a slow and languid kiss, and the impression of _/we are not our scars/_  passed to Spock through their touch.

Their explorations grew more heated, Jim rocking toward Spock, desperate and loving and inexorable, Spock meeting him with equal need. Their clothing was long gone, and Spock prepared Jim quickly, needing, wanting, the imperative of bringing them closer nearly unbearable.

And when he moved inside, above, within his Jim, and Jim cried out and covered his chest and neck and face with hot and desperate human kisses, Spock leaned down and wiped his bondmate's tears away, pressing / _together together/_ through his lips into Jim's skin, and Jim kissed him back,  _/perfect perfect/_  and they both pushed their minds away from martyrs and statues and death.

('')

"We should attempt to sleep," Spock said into Jim's chest, later. Jim hmm'ed in agreement, but didn't stop his gentle massage of Spock's scalp. "We must rest," Spock repeated half-heartedly, and Jim shifted so he could meet Spock's eyes.

Finally he asked, "Did you ever see a healer?"

Spock furrowed his brow, not following this vein of conversation. "For what purpose?"

"After I died."

Spock stiffened slightly, but then forced himself to relax, and shook his head as well as he could without removing it from Jim's shoulder. "We were unbonded. There was no need."

Jim huffed and laced his fingers with Spock's. "Bullshit. I know we weren't actually marriage-bonded, I mean, obviously, but you can't evade these kind of things anymore—I remember my life now, Spock, and I don't forget things you've told me. We'd melded during sex more times than I can count, and you  _said_ , you told me, that created a, a betrothal bond. Like you had with T'Pring, but stronger, cause we'd done something about it. You even said that the bonding ceremony we were on our way to was 'largely ceremonial' and that we were already partially joined."

Spock was silent, so Jim kept talking. "And that day, I knew, I could feel it. It was the worst thing ever, Spock. When that first Vehsin did their mind-trick and attacked you on the bridge, I could  _feel_  how scared you were, how much it hurt. I didn't have to touch you and I could feel what you were thinking. So you can't tell me there wasn't some sort of connection, there.

"And then on Earth, when  _you_  died a little, I could feel my mind start cracking and so if that's what a broken bond felt like, or even close to that, and you went through that—Spock, why didn't you get help? I mean, fuck, it's no wonder you—" he cut himself off, grimacing. "And then when Sarek died…"

"There was no one from which I could seek help," Spock said finally, barely loud enough that Jim could hear, and tightened his grip around Jim's chest.

"That's why you went crazy," Jim said flatly. "Why you can't control your emotions anymore, probably why you like killing."

"Probably," Spock echoed softly.

"Did bonding with me help fix it?" Jim asked, and started stroking his fingers through Spock's hair again.

"Yes, though not entirely," Spock told him. "Had we been reunited sooner, or perhaps if I had gained access to a healer, my mental state would be more stable. However, I have regained remarkable amounts of control with the revelation that you still lived."

Jim was silent for a long time, though his fingers didn't cease their movements. Finally, he swallowed and asked, "What would happen to you if I died?"

"I would go insane, or die as well." Spock said honestly. "I doubt it would be possible to bring my mind back from the brink again."

Jim licked his lips. "And if you died? What would happen to me?"

"I do not know," Spock said. "Likely the effects would be the same." Above him, Jim nodded.

"Then it's good that we'll be together. We can protect each other, keep each other safe."

"The best of a bad situation," Spock agreed.

They lay in silence for the rest of the night, both unable to sleep.

('')

At 0500, Spock and Jim beamed back down to the surface to meet with Pike, Bhaan and the estimated ten captains that would be accompanying them on the journey the queen. However, the only people that met them in the transporter room were a glowering Leonard McCoy and a slightly frowning Stonn. McCoy was manning the transport controls, and started yelling even before their molecules were entirely solidified.

"What in the damn fool universe made you think that this suicide mission is a good one, Jim?" he snapped. Spock put on his most placid face and followed Jim slowly off the transport pad.

"Indeed," Stonn added. "You cannot believe that your actions will result in anything but your deaths."

"Um," Jim said, and looked to Spock for help. Spock simply raised an eyebrow—they were both aware that McCoy and Stonn were perfectly correct, so there was no way to argue with them.

McCoy strode over and grabbed Jim by his upper arms. "Jim, you've just escaped, and you're gonna willingly walk back into a hellhole fifty times worse than anything you've ever been in? As that Vehsin's  _prisoner_?" He turned on Spock. "And you, ya great green blooded hobgoblin," (behind him, Stonn slightly raised an eyebrow) "you're just gonna let him do this?"

"There is little time to formulate another plan, Leonard," Spock said calmly, and McCoy scowled. "In fact, we are pressed for time as is—we should be meeting with Admiral Pike." McCoy glared, and opened his mouth to start yelling again, but abruptly stopped when Stonn stepped forward and placed a hand on his shoulder, stopping him mid-rant.

"Spock, on the colony ship, you convinced me that my willingness to put myself in a situation that would inevitably end in my demise was illogical. Surely you can see that you are engaging in a similar action?" Stonn was speaking quietly, but there was a harshness in his tone that made Spock want to cringe.

"We don't have a choice," Jim said, rescuing him. "No one else will be able to get close enough to the queen, not before the Vehsins attack Qo'nos."

McCoy looked between the two of them, and Stonn slowly dropped his hand from his shoulder. "You're not doing this 'cause ya have a death wish, are you?" McCoy asked, glancing at the floor and turning red around his ears. "'Cause I know you two, and as your doctor, it doesn't seem too far out of the realm of possibility."

Jim and Spock shook their heads in unison. "No," Spock said. "We do not wish to die."

"In fact, we're gonna try pretty damn hard not to," Jim added, and looked at Spock. "And we have a chance—a better chance together than we would alone."

"I still think you're damn fools," McCoy growled, and Stonn nodded.

"I am inclined to agree with Leonard."

Jim grinned at Stonn's familiar use of McCoy's name, and his amusement lanced through the bond to Spock.  _/toldja/_  he sent to Spock, who narrowed his eyes slightly.

/ _I referred to you as 'Jim' long before we engaged in sexual activities, and I currently call him 'Leonard' as well/_

But Jim just ignored him and clapped McCoy on the back. "Well,  _Leonard_ , will it make you feel any better if I tell you I want you on our rescue crew? That way you'll get first crack at me when we get back."

"Damn right," muttered McCoy.

('')

It didn't take long to organize the ships to go. When used to living as wanted men and women, one gained the ability to move quickly, and the penchant to travel light. In the end, a total of eleven ships were deemed fit for travel at warp eight, which would put them at the queen Vehsin's stronghold on the planet Ubinon III in just over twenty four hours. A total of ninety-seven rebels would travel on the ships with them. With Spock, Jim, and Bhaan, the count was an even one hundred.

"We'll still be outnumbered fifty to one," Bhaan said despairingly in the war meeting room, but no more ships could be bullied into working, and no more fighters could be packed into the ones already going. He seemed far more agitated than he had the previous day, and Spock felt that it would be correct to assume that he had not slept well, either.

"They won't be coming in until the soldiers have lost the will to fight," Jim told Bhaan, and the Vehsin nodded miserably. "It'll be ok—more like five to one. And we can do that, right?" Jim graced the assembled captains with a blinding smile and received a few unenthusiastic nods in return.

After a few more last minute rehashings of the plan, they trooped out of the war room and headed toward the staging area, a large airfield on the surface that the Klingons protected with cloaking tech and ground-to-air plasma cannons. The chosen ships were gathered toward one end of the field, and the crews were milling in loose groups around their ships.

Spock sped up his steps to walk next to Bhaan, and touched his shoulder lightly to get his attention. "Do you still feel as certain of our success as you did previously?"

Bhaan glanced at him, almost amused. "I never claimed that this mission would be successful."

Next to them, Jim snorted. "Oh vehsins and their optimism…" Bhaan stared at him, and Spock shook his head slightly. Bhaan glanced between the two of them and ducked his head slightly.

"I worry that—" But whatever Bhaan was worried about was cut off when the group reached the assembled soldiers, and Pike cleared his throat to speak.

"All right everyone," Pike said, stepping up onto a lowered ramp on one of the assembled ships, putting himself a head or so higher than the gathered rebels. "Final check of our plan." He waited until all quiet conversations had stopped, and then faced the group with a stony face.

"We're flying silent until we get to Ubinon's outer moon, and then we park ourselves behind it. We have the outpost on the moon to take out—again, silently—and we'll drop two people to keep the functions of the base running so the vehsins won't realize anything's wrong. We know who's staying on the base?" At the back of the group, a human woman and a bajoran man raised their hands.

"Good," Pike said, nodding. "Carson and Byryes, make sure you go over every technical aspect of that base on the trip over. No mistakes." They nodded, and several people around them clapped them on their backs—their job was an important one. If the vehsins saw the rebel 'fleet,' the rest of the plan would fall apart.

Pike took a breath. "Then the crew flying in on the  _Yeht-gav_  will beam to the  _Katana_ , leaving Jim, Spock, and Bhaan alone. Bhaan will fly them in and land, bringing Jim and Spock to the queen." He looked at them, and Spock met his gaze blandly. He was aware that Pike didn't like this plan any more than he did, but Spock was not about to show anything other than complete belief that it would work, even in the light of Bhaan's unknown 'worry'. He knew Pike would call it off if they didn't show enough confidence, and… and there was simply no other way.

Pike shook his head slightly and continued. "They'll kill the queen, barricade themselves in her chambers, and send us a signal. If Bhaan thinks we'd have a chance with the rest of the vehsins, he'll send another signal. If not, we wait seventy-two hours from the time the  _Yeht-gav_  leaves the fleet. Then we'll fly in and engage, extract our team, and then wait it out." He looked around at the uneasy rebels, stepped down, and approached Bhaan.

"Any final tips?" he asked, and Bhaan clicked his mandibles uneasily, but stepped up and took Pike's place on the ramp.

"My brothers that look like me," he buzzed. "Smaller, the commanders. They will be harder to kill than the soldier class when you storm the stronghold. However, most have always relied on others to do their fighting for them. The elders," he paused, thinking. "The fatter ones. They have bad eyesight. They track movement easily, but may have a difficult time seeing you if you are still. For those my age," he paused again, obviously weighing his words, and with a sigh, flared out his vestigial wings. "Ripping our wings is incredibly painful, and will stop us at least momentarily." There were some muffled whispers among the soldiers—it was general knowledge about the eyesight, but the tip about the wings was new.

Bhaan continued over the mutterings. "The soldiers do not have wings, but the spot where they would have been attached to their backs is still sensitive. A shot or a knife there will kill them quickly, though by the time you reach the base, most should simply lay down their arms and surrender." He paused, then jerkily added, "I would still suggest killing them. They may have a final spark of rebellion."

"What about the princesses?" someone asked from the crowd. Bhaan looked out at the assembled group and shrugged. Something odd flicked across this features, and Spock narrowed his eyes suspiciously. Bhaan knew something he was not telling the rest of the rebels.

"They will likely not be there—they should be patrolling, and the last I was aware, the two younger ones were still on Bajor, and Penna was unaccounted for." He hesitated again, and Spock's feelings of unease increased. Bhaan flicked his antennae nervously. "But if you do see them, I would advise simply running away. They are very fast, and very dangerous. I would not suggest letting them reach you." He stepped down off the ramp and stood silently next to Jim, who patted him on the shoulder. Bhaan didn't meet anyone's eyes.

"All right," Pike said, after a beat of silence. "Everyone to the ships."

The group began to dissipate, everyone going in their separate directions. Spock walked to the  _Yeht-gav_ , trailed by Jim, Bhaan, Sybok, Uhura, Scott, McCoy, and Stonn. They were silent as they boarded their ship, silent as they took their places on the bridge, silent as the engines thrummed to life.

They breached the atmosphere of Qo'nos first, closely followed by the other ten ships. Spock lingered on the bridge long enough to make sure of their heading and then stood. "Sybok," he said. "You have the bridge." He turned and left—he was compromised, unable to watch his ship fly toward what would surely be his and Jim's death. He was upset enough that it slipped his mind that he had wanted to speak to Bhaan about his odd behavior.

('')

Stonn found him a few hours later in the tiny recreation room. "Captain," he said formally, tilting his head in acknowledgement. Spock resisted the urge to roll his eyes.

"Is there something you needed, Stonn?" he asked, and directed his gaze back out the viewing window.

"No," Stonn said, and sat stiffly next to Spock on the couch. "I wish to provide comfort."

Spock turned and stared at him. "That action is entirely illogical."

A muscle in Stonn's jaw jumped slightly, and he breathed out heavily. "Leonard requested it. He is sharing a drink with Kirk, and as we are childhood acquaintances, he suggested I engage in an appropriately Vulcan similar action with you."

Spock nodded slowly, then stood and walked to the room's replicator, quickly keying in the sequences for two hot chocolates. When they materialized, he walked back to the couch and handed one to Stonn. They sipped their drinks slowly and quietly, watching space rush past the window.

"Your actions are brave," Stonn said almost an hour later.

"Yes," Spock responded.

Stonn nodded once, and they finished their drinks in silence.

('')

The fleet was hovering tensely behind one of Ubinon's moons. The small base on the moon had been taken, and now Jim, Spock, and Bhaan were crowded into the _Yeht-gav_ 's tiny medical bay, receiving tracking injections from McCoy.

"What is the point of these injections?" Bhaan asked, inspecting the site on his forearm where McCoy had just injected a small chip.

"Radio tracking, so we know where to go when it's time to come an' get ya," McCoy said flatly. "Since every damn thing on that planet's shielded, we'll have to track you with tricorders on the ground. We won't be able to get readings from the ship."

"These devices will continue to function in the case of our demise?" Spock asked, and flexed his arm, feeling the small sliver of metal under his skin.

McCoy blanched, but then nodded shortly. He grabbed Jim's arm and pressed the applicator to his skin. Jim winced, but then grinned. "You'll be able to track our arms, at least. Everyone, stay connected to your arms."

 _/unamusing/_  Spock projected, and Jim turned his grin on him, sending back a mental hand flap and the admonition to not worry so much. Spock felt he was perfectly within his rights to worry, and made no effort to control this mental activity.

He became suddenly aware the McCoy was snapping his tricorder shut and herding them out of the medical bay. "You're as good as I can get you. We've got to get to the transporter."

Spock closed his eyes for a moment before stepping into the hallway—the rest of his crew had already left for the  _Katana_ , and Pike was waiting for them in the transporter room. He and McCoy would beam away, and then they would go.

They were far past the point of no return.

"Wait," Jim said, stopping short and jerking Spock out of his reverie. "We're prisoners, shouldn't we be a little, I don't know, more prisoner-y?"

Bhaan looked at them appraisingly. "I could hit you."

"No," Spock said quickly. "We will allow them to make the assumption that our journey has been lengthy and that we have had time to heal. We need full range of motion and mental capacities, both of which would be hindered if we were to engage in acquiring physical injuries."

"No punching," agreed McCoy, and they started toward the transporter room again.

Pike was standing stiffly at the controls, two pairs of the kind of handcuffs favored by the Vehsins resting by his elbow. He nodded at them as they came in and stepped forward, picking up the cuffs. "All right?" he asked, and everyone voiced quiet assurances. He nodded again, and gently began to restrain Jim's hands behind his back.

"We've altered these, obviously. They just pull apart, shouldn't be a problem. You have your weapons?"

Spock shifted slightly and nodded, feeling the dig of the two phasers he had strapped near his groin. He and Jim were wearing ill-fitting pants that easily concealed the weapons, and they both had several knives strapped to their arms and legs. He hoped they would not be subjected to a pat-down. Bhaan was only carrying one concealed weapon—erring on the side of caution, though he didn't believe his own rifle or Urdian would be confiscated.

Pike carefully kept the material of Spock's sweater over his hands when he gripped Spock's wrists to tie the cuffs on. It only took a second, and then he stepped back after gently testing both sets of restraints, searching Jim and Spock's faces. "I'm sorry we're asking this of you," he said, and Spock was disconcerted to see the open grief in his eyes.

"We will succeed," he said in response, and the sadness on Pike's face deepened for a moment before being entirely smoothed away.

"I'm sure you will," he said. Behind them, Bhaan snorted in derision, and Pike shot him an aggravated look before turning to McCoy. "Come on, Doctor," he said, and McCoy grimaced. He stepped forward and pulled Jim into a tight hug.

"Don't do anything overtly stupid, now," he said softly. "I'll see you in three days, and I've got a special bottle of bourbon with your name on it." McCoy turned to Spock before Jim could say anything, and pointed his finger in Spock's face. "Take care of him, Spock. And yourself. I have faith in you."

Spock simply nodded, and then McCoy and Pike were up on the transport pad, Bhaan was pressing the necessary buttons, and then the three of them were alone.

"You might as well stay here," Bhaan buzzed. "The flight will last less than five minutes." He disappeared toward the bridge, and Spock became aware that Jim was staring at him.

"We'll be fine," Jim said with a small smile.

"A word with variable definitions, Jim." Spock raised an eyebrow to drive home his point, trying to joke to lighten the mood.

"Shut up." But Jim was smiling wider now, and laughed softly. "I'll variable definition your face."

"Your statement is nonsensical," Spock deadpanned, and Jim laughed for real this time, but then sucked in a nervous breath when the floor underneath them jerked slightly, the engines ramping up. They were on their way. Jim stepped closer and leaned against Spock's chest.

_/I love you/_

_/and I, you/_

They breathed together in silence for entirely too short minutes, and then nearly fell over when Bhaan landed the ship hard.

"Sorry," he said a minute later when he reappeared. "I didn't want anyone watching to get the impression that I was used to flying this ship." He eyed them for a moment. "I don't know what I might have to do to you to make them believe me."

"We understand," Spock said. "We should go."

"Pull your punches," Jim offered with a smile, and Bhaan clicked his mandibles nervously, but moved to stand behind the transporter panel.

"We have to beam in," he said, adjusting the settings and not looking at them. "You won't be able to breathe in the atmosphere on the surface. The queen's palace itself is carved directly into the rock of the planet."

"Will we be able to breathe inside?" Spock asked, suddenly alarmed, but Bhaan nodded.

"The natural environment is methane-rich. I can breathe it, but it is unpleasant. The queen will have a controlled air supply inside that is similar to Earth’s atmosphere—she dislikes being uncomfortable." He made a final deft motion on the control panel and then walked around it, prodding them toward the transporter pad. They stepped up in unison, and Bhaan grabbed hold of the back of their necks.

Both Jim and Spock stiffened. This motion was well known to them—it was how they'd been led anywhere when they'd been imprisoned. Bhaan seemed to realize this, as his touch was light.

"I apologize," he muttered, and white light began to swirl around them.

They rematerialized in the center of a large room that was staffed with three very surprised-looking soldier vehsins. They second they were fully corporeal, Bhaan shoved them forward, purposefully overbalancing them, and Jim fell to his knees, hissing in pain. Spock sank down next to him, careful not to pull too hard against his restraints, and glared up at Bhaan, not needing to act particularly hard to appear angry. Bhaan, however, ignored them for the time being, instead rounding on his brothers and beginning to argue with them.

The room filled with hisses, clicks, and buzzes. Spock didn't recognize anything substantial that Bhaan was saying, (though he thought he caught a few insults) despite the Vehsin's attempts to teach him a few phrases in his native language. They'd tried to learn a bit in the hope that if he and Jim could at least have a vague idea of what was being said around them, they would have a greater chance at responding in a timely manner.

But apparently whatever Bhaan was yelling about was convincing the guards, who were now staring at Spock and Jim with a mixture of apprehension and loathing. Bhaan watched the guards watching them impassively for a moment, then hissed out the first thing Spock had understood since they beamed down.

"Where is the queen mother?"

One of the guards glanced at him, eyes narrowed. He buzzed something that made Bhaan cock his head, and there was a moment of stilted silence. Then with a smooth movement, Bhaan withdrew his rifle and calmly shot the guard that had last spoken directly in the chest. He lazily pointed his gun at the other two soldiers and said, "Well?"

They blinked at him, then looked at each other, then at the body of their brother on the ground. One buzzed something that Spock didn't catch, and Bhaan laughed, then strode over to them and kicked Spock in the side. "Get up," he ordered, and they shakily pushed themselves to their feet.

One of the other Vehsins said something just as Bhaan settled his hand on the back of Spock's neck, and for the briefest of seconds, Bhaan froze, his claws digging painfully in around Spock's spine. But then he released his hold and snapped back into movement, letting out a shaky breath that didn't instill a feeling of confidence in Spock. Bhaan turned to the Vehsin that had spoken. "She's here?"

The Vehsin seemed to say something in the affirmative, and Bhaan blinked, suddenly seeming off-kilter. Jim projected a worried feeling onto Spock, who minutely nodded his head. Something was wrong.

But then Bhaan glanced over at his brothers and said something (they laughed in response) and he had again grabbed them by their necks and was leading them out of the room at a pace that was just short of punishingly fast. Jim almost tripped and fell again, and Spock caught a more specific worried thought from him about the likelihood of Bhaan actually betraying them.

 _/he would not/_  Spock projected back, and tried to keep his own suspicions out of his thoughts. He suddenly remembered that Bhaan had been appearing to hide something from them before they left the Klingons, and mentally berated himself for not confronting him immediately.

And as soon as they rounded a corner and were out of sight of the guards, Bhaan dropped his claws from their necks and spoke in hushed Standard.

"The queen's rooms are down this hall. Are your weapons easily accessible?"

"Yea."

"Affirmative."

"Good. Be alert—I do not know if my brothers believed me or not. I one I shot certainly didn't, and they may have played along to avoid being shot as well." He hesitated. "They also said that the younger princesses are here."

Jim pulled up short. "All three? Is that what the problem is?"

"Keep walking, there is surveillance," Bhaan hissed, and prodded Jim forward, though he set a pace that was slow enough for them to talk. "And… no, not precisely. Penna is unaccounted for, but Azel and… and Cinna have joined the queen." He fingered his Urdian and looked uncomfortable.

Spock looked at Bhaan out of the corner of his eye, the sense of  _wrongness_  growing. "You are acquainted with one of the princesses?"

Bhaan didn't say anything, which Spock realized with a sinking feeling meant 'yes.' He lowered his voice and slowed his walk further. "Bhaan, do not withhold information. Something is wrong, and our mission may be at stake. Will we be able to count on your allegiance to us and not this other princess?"

"She wasn't supposed to be here, she was supposed to be on Bajor," Bhaan whispered, looking at the ground. His non-answer made Spock's back stiffen, and he felt the first brush of Jim's fear in his mind.

"Bhaan." Jim's eyes were wide as he looked at the Vehsin. "Are you not siding with us now?" There was a lengthy pause as Bhaan considered his options and Spock and Jim tried not to panic. Spock forced his thoughts to calm, remembering the presence of surveillance, but Jim started flexing his arms slightly, as if considering if he should break the false restraints immediately. If Bhaan chose to turn on them, they would be killed—they wouldn't have a chance. Spock tried to send calming thoughts toward Jim, but was ignored in favor of Jim leaning back slightly and looking at Bhaan. He licked his lips nervously. "Please don't do this, Bhaan…"

"I do not think I will be able to hurt her," Bhaan finally admitted, and Jim swore under his breath.

"Why did you not inform us of this allegiance prior to this moment?" Spock whispered, firmly tamping down his fear and betrayal, (he could not lose control, not now, not when so much was at stake) and Bhaan shrugged slightly.

"I had not anticipated it having any effect on this mission. She was not supposed to be here." Bhaan's grip on his gun tightened, and Spock and Jim mentally started trying to come up with a plan that somehow would allow them to succeed in their mission and escape.

_/we could kill her ourselves/_

_/I fear that action may cause Bhaan to turn on us /_

_/what option do we have?/_

_/he said to avoid the princesses, they're deadly/_

_/Jim, I do not know/_

They were jerked out of their silent conversation by Bhaan slightly tightening his claws on their necks to get their attention. He glanced around the hallway, then led them to a door that swished open at their approach.

They stepped inside to darkness, and Bhaan palmed the door shut, muttering something that must have been a lock code. He ordered lights on, and Jim and Spock blinked as they took in what appeared to be a storeroom.

"Cinna is the youngest princess," Bhaan said without preamble. "We are…" he paused, searching for the correct Standard word. "…friends. Had she been the eldest, or one likely to take the throne when the queen mother died, it would have been probable that I would be one of her selected favorites."

"You were going to be her husband?" Jim said, his voice low with betrayal. "And you didn't think this  _mattered_  to tell us?"

Bhaan clicked angrily. "As I  _said_ , she was not supposed to be here. And no, I would not be her husband, as the likelihood of her ascension was… is… negligible. But we are friends, and she is…" he cut himself off and pulled at his antennae, a gesture that meant he was frustrated. "She is  _young_ , more open-minded than the queen or her other sisters. Perhaps the situation is not as dire as it appears. Cinna is… she has never taken pleasure in killing. She  _might_  listen to me."

Spock took a breath. "What would you say to her?"

"I would be one of her favored," Bhaan repeated, almost desperately, then paused and looked even more upset. "Or I would have been, before Penna orchestrated the assassinations." Spock and Jim exchanged a look, and Bhaan sighed. "I would tell her the truth, our plans, and ask her to assist."

Jim and Spock responded simultaneously.

"What?  _No_ , that's—"

"That would be inadvisable—"

Bhaan held up a claw, and they fell silent. "I will not harm her. I cannot." They stared at him, and he looked down at the floor, unwilling to meet their eyes. "I am sorry."

"You're going to get us killed," Jim snapped, and Bhaan looked up.

"So our outcome has not changed."

('')

It took another half hour of walking to reach the queen's inner sanctum. On the way there, they passed several other Vehsins—mostly soldiers, but a few commanders as well—and the response to seeing Bhaan leading the two most wanted beings in the galaxy toward the queen's chambers would have almost been amusing if everything wasn't so rapidly turning into a clusterfuck.

"We're here," Bhaan announced unnecessarily when they stopped in front of the heavy doors that had been carved from the planet's rock and closed the queen off from the rest of the base. He reached out a claw and pounded on one, his knock sounding hollow and unpleasantly reminding Spock of the sound made when knocking on a coffin. But then the door swung open and Spock (despite himself) watched in interest as he got his first view of what was probably a slave Vehsin—it was much smaller and spindly than the first or second level beings, and apparently blind. It bowed low to Bhaan, its antennae twitching, and he leaned down to briefly touch his own to it.

There was a pause, and then Bhaan straightened up. "In," he said, and prodded them both in the back. "Be ready."

They stepped into a foyer-type room, and Spock quickly counted seventeen guards within sight, as well as two thin Vehsins of a type he hadn't previously seen. They had gossamer-thin wings trailing down their backs, and one made a pleased noise when she saw who had stepped in.

"Bhaan!" The princess (for that was who these had to be) fluttered forward, her wings slightly lifting her off the ground for a moment. She was smiling, and Spock felt a sinking deep in his abdomen. He watched as she embraced Bhaan and tangled their antennae together, buzzing something quickly in their language. Bhaan smiled back at her and stroked his free hand down her scaly cheek, and Spock became aware of Jim's growing desperation in the back of his mind.

 _/bad/_  Jim projected.

 _/very/_  Spock agreed.

('')

Bhaan was aware of his companions' dismay, but found he couldn't stop himself from embracing Cinna—his beautiful Cinna that he never thought he would ever see again. And he had not been lying earlier when attempting to convince Spock and Jim that she was different. There was a good chance that she would at least listen, and if there was a way…

"Cinna," he said softly into her ear. "Listen to my words."

"Always." She smiled up at him and he felt a pang of love for her—he had understated their connection to Jim and Spock, as he was certain they didn't want to truly know how far he would go for her. He knew he was her absolute favorite, always had been, and had she been the one poised to take the throne, they would have broken tradition and named him her  _only_  consort (which was unheard of, of course, but Cinna was something new).

And yes, he felt guilt that he hadn't told the other rebels about his connection, but it  _shouldn't_  have mattered, she shouldn't have been here, but now she was. And there was no force in the universe that could make him hurt her. He had even been toying with ideas to rescue her had their current mission actually succeeded.

But for now, he leaned forward and said into her ear, "I have joined the rebels." She pulled back, shocked, but he shook his head and leaned in again, tangling their antennae. "Look," he ordered, and she reluctantly flicked through his mind, stiffening at every image he pushed to the forefront—Penna's murder of the elder princesses, the cruelties inflicted upon their subjugated conquered, the kindness of the  _Yeht-gav_ 's crew.

Finally, she pulled back, shocked, and he stared into her eyes. "You see what I have to do."

Slowly, she reached down to his holster and withdrew his plasma rifle. He wilted slightly  _(Cinna, you were the most kind and understanding of our family, why)_ as she flicked off the safety and pulled herself away from his arms.

Cinna turned and shot her sister between the eyes.

('')

Bhaan's embrace with the princess lasted only seconds before she reached for his gun. Spock and Jim exchanged another look and Spock projected  _/ready?/_

 _/always/_  Jim's face was determined, and he flexed his arms, preparing to break the false restraints.

But then with a smooth movement, the princess turned her stolen gun on her own sister, and after a few beats of shocked silence that accompanied the plasma blast, (Spock and Jim as frozen as the rest of the room) she turned back to Bhaan and said quite clearly, "I am with you."

The next few seconds were a blur. Spock broke his restraints, aware that Jim was doing the same with ease, and reached into his loose clothing, producing his two phasers. He had shot five guards dead before they had the wherewithal to react, and then the room filled with the whine of energy weapons.

He ducked behind a pillar, covering Jim, who was barricading the door. Another guard down, and Bhaan and the princess (Cinna, the princess' name was Cinna) were standing back to back in the center of the room, picking others off—Bhaan had taken the rifle off one guard that Spock himself had shot—their faces completely blank, their free hands tangled behind their backs between them, and Spock had a moment of surrealism—Bhaan had somehow convinced a  _princess_  to side with them, which defied all logic.

But now he concentrated on protecting Jim's back as they pushed further into the queen's stronghold—guards were pouring in from several sides, but they had the element of surprise. Every one of the soldiers pulled up short when they saw Bhaan and Cinna advancing, and this made easy targets for Spock and Jim. Spock caught Jim's adrenaline rush and fed off it, his vision clear and precise, his movements sharp and measured.

It only took them half an hour of fighting before they were at the door to the queen's inner chambers, a trail of bodies behind them. Here they paused, taking stock—Spock and Jim threw out their almost depleted phasers and relieved two dead Vehsins of their rifles, then turned to Bhaan and Cinna.

"Hello, Kirk, Spock," she buzzed lightly, and they nodded slowly. She glanced at Bhaan and then looked back at them. "I know that you don't understand my defection, but it can be explained simply by the fact that I trust Bhaan. When I heard that he had committed…" she trailed off, then blinked and shook her head. "I did not believe he had done wrong. I was correct." She snaked her hand over toward Bhaan's and clicked their claws together.

"It's all good," Jim said with a smile, and absently wiped some black blood off his hands and onto his pants. "We're just happy you're with us."

"Indeed," Spock agreed. "Our chance of success was significantly raised when you chose to defect."

_/no specific percentages, Spock?/_

Spock almost rolled his eyes.  _/our chance of success with the addition of the princess has raised to 67.9374—/_

 _/I get it/_  Jim muffled a laugh with his hand and then turned to Bhaan and Cinna. "What are we looking at past this door?"

Cinna's antennae twitched. "Mostly lower level slaves. There will be a dozen guards or so, but the issue is our queen mother."

"How so?" Spock pointed his rifle at a twitching soldier and shot him cleanly in the head. He stopped twitching and Spock turned his full attention back to the two Vehsins.

"My mother is powerful telepath," Cinna buzzed, her tone still soft and almost conversational. She checked her rifle, frowned, and replaced it with another that had fallen to the ground with the last wave of soldiers. Spock watched her, the surrealism of the situation fully hitting him. He briefly recalculated their odds—almost ninety percent at this point.

Cinna continued—"She will be able to negatively affect Bhaan's physiology, and may be able to affect Kirk's and yours as well, though I am unsure. It would be best if she was killed quickly. Very quickly."

Spock eyed her. "You are willing to kill your mother?"

Cinna clicked her mandibles. "Obviously, or I would not be helping you. Is now the time for questions about vehsin hierarchy?"

"Nope," Jim said cheerfully. Spock realized with a start that he was bleeding from a cut on his face, and reached out a hand to wipe the offensive red away. Jim smiled at him. "Now's the time for some ass-kicking. Let's go."

He and Bhaan turned to the door, and with a swift movement, simultaneously kicked it in before swinging to the sides as phaser fire shot out of the now ruined entrance. The four of them pressed themselves against the wall outside, and exchanged glances. It would be unwise to wait until the energy weapons were depleted—the barrier to the outer rooms could probably be breached by the time that happened. But they couldn't exactly burst into the room as the situation was—they'd be shot before they could even take aim.

Spock considered for a moment, then reached forward and picked up his near-chargeless phaser from where he'd dropped it, and set it to overload. Jim grinned at him and they listened to the high-pitched whine that accompanied overload, waiting for the correct moment to throw it.

When the noise became almost too much for Spock's sensitive ears, he ducked down and tossed the phaser into the room. There was a moment of silence when the Vehsins within doubtlessly stared at the device, then a resounding  _boom_  that seemed to shake the entire building.

"Well," Jim shouted over their ringing ears, "they know we're here now!"

 _/indeed/_  Spock projected, not bothering to try to speak aloud, and then they swung into the room, rifles raised and cocked.

The queen's inner sanctum was in ruins—phasers (even as low on energy as that one was) were highly destructive, and several guards were already dead. The few remaining were disoriented and wounded, and it took almost no time for the four of them to pick the stragglers off. However, there was no sign of the queen.

"She'll be in her birthing chambers," Cinna said distractedly as she dragged a decorative lance toward the doors to begin barricading them in. "The entrance is behind her throne."

"Here," Bhaan buzzed, and Jim and Spock skirted around an intricately carved stone throne to a rough-hewn hole in the rock. There was no door, simply an opening into blackness.

"Well  _that's_  not ominous," Jim muttered sarcastically, and Spock privately agreed.

"We need to go in." Bhaan's voice was shaking slightly, and Spock felt a sudden surge of something for him—pity, perhaps, mixed with camaraderie. It was certainly nothing he had anticipated feeling for the vehsin. He touched Bhaan's shoulder, careful (as always) to avoid skin contact.

"We are with you."

Bhaan nodded at them, then stepped forward into the darkness.


	17. (Pause)

Penna released her hold on the transporter technician's throat a split second before he lost consciousness. She smiled at him (her smile, always dangerous, had grown more unhinged over the past few months, and could in no way be described as  _pleasant_ ) and breathed, "Let's try this again.  _Who_  was the last to transport in?"

"Second Commander Bhaan," gasped the tech, his complexion fading from dark grey and back toward his more usual green. He coughed twice and added, "He was transporting prisoners."

With a shake of her head, Penna sighed. "You see, that's what I  _thought_  you said, and that is entirely impossible. Bhaan would not be stupid enough to waltz into the queen mother's stronghold."

"I—"

"Shut up," Penna snapped, and the tech immediately closed his mouth. Penna cocked her head, thinking. "Who were the prisoners?"

The tech looked confused, and Penna rolled her eyes and practically growled, "You can speak now."

"Ah, the prisoners…" the tech looked at the two bodies on the ground next to him—the first killed by Bhaan about an hour ago, the second by the princess when she disliked his reticence to answer this same question. He swallowed, and whispered, "James Kirk and Spock."

Penna burst out laughing, and the tech took a step backward toward the doors—his princess' laugh was, quite frankly, terrifying in its insanity, and he very much wished to leave. But then she stopped laughing abruptly, and turned to him, her eyes glinting manically. He swallowed again.

"This day could not get any better," she said with a wide grin, and the tech could not possibly disagree with her more.


	18. The End of Things

It turned out that the cavern was not entirely lightless—about ten steps in, Spock was able to make out hundreds of small round pools, each glowing with a dim, purplish light. He narrowly avoided stepping in one, and knelt, looking into it, its contents growing clearer as his eyes became accustomed to the low light.

Eggs. Each pool contained a cluster of perfectly round, clear eggs, not unlike clumps of fish eggs that Jim had once shown him on Earth. He reached out to dip his hand in the water, fascinated, but from his left, Bhaan hissed, "Don't."

Spock looked up at him and was surprised to see Bhaan's face contorted in an expression of misery. "Please," Bhaan continued, "please, don't. We're going to kill all of them, all of the embryos will die with the queen, so just—don't."

Jim touched his shoulder lightly and Spock nodded, withdrew his hand, and stood. He looked out over what he now realized was a vast cavern. There was no sign of movement, not a ripple on any of the ponds, nothing. "Where is the queen?" he asked softly.

"She's here," Bhaan buzzed. Spock noticed with a slight amount of alarm that his wings were extended and he was rubbing his armor plating together nervously.

Jim's thoughts echoed for a moment in his head.  _/he's freaked/_

"As are we," Spock said simply, and felt warm pressure against his side as Jim turned to cover their backs.

"This place is creepy as hell," Jim commented, and Bhaan made a disgruntled sort of disagreeing noise. Spock felt Jim's amusement/exasperation with Bhaan, and then he was talking again. "Bhaan, how are we supposed to find her? Is there some sort of plan to this place?"

"There should be—" Bhaan started to say, but then gasped sharply and stopped speaking. Spock felt a surge of alarm, but had no time to react (not that he had anything to react  _to_ ) before he felt a building, oily pressure behind his eyes. He dropped his gun with a clatter and brought his hands to his head, letting out a soft whimper as he did so.

Distantly, he felt Jim wrapping his arms around him, heard him saying something, but the pressure in his head made it too hard to concentrate on the words that Jim was pressing into his skin.

Abruptly, the terrible weight shut off, and was replaced by a soft, cruel laugh. And when the owner of the voice spoke, directly forcing herself into his mind, he started shaking. This was worse than anything he had experienced since that first day—the violation, the insidious  _creeping_  of this foreign mind—

hello spock

Spock whimpered.

it has been a long time since i have touched a vulcan mind you are what is this word you use fascinating

Spock scrabbled mentally at the intruder, tried to force her out. He was vaguely aware that Jim had moved away from him (or at least he could no longer feel his touch) but that was, quite frankly, the least of his problems at the moment. Green blood began to drip from his ears.

('')

"There should be—" Bhaan started to say, but there was a sudden presence in his head, something he had only felt once before in his life, when he was almost too young to remember.

bhaan my son I am disappointed in you

He gasped as his body was wracked with sudden, mind-shattering pain. From the direction that Spock and Jim had been standing, he heard Jim start babbling, saying Spock's name over and over, panic rising in his voice. There was sharp rattle—they'd dropped their weapons, they shouldn't have dropped their weapons—

you have betrayed your people you have betrayed me bhaan you have betrayed everything that you have known why

Bhaan responded with a silent scream. He could feel his organs stuttering, trying to shut down, the queen rifling through his memories, his thoughts. He felt her flash of anger when encountering his memories of Cinna, of his friendship with the rebels. And no, no, they had come this far, he needed, he needed to—"

you have corrupted my daughter you have ruined her with thoughts of compassion and love and that is not vehsin you dare call yourself vehsin you are waste trash excrement useless you dare seek revenge against my penna she is a true queen she will rule when i am gone but you will not be the one to kill me

Bhaan fell to the ground, writhing in pain. He projected useless pleas toward the queen mother, begging for his life, begging for reprieve of the pain.

i will give you reprieve the queen mother spoke into his mind, and the pain redoubled. Bhaan passed out.

('')

"There should be—" Bhaan started to say, but stopped mid-sentence. Jim tensed, every atom in his body screaming 'Trap Trap Get Out Now!' and then Spock dropped his gun, bent over and grabbed at his head.

"Fuck," Jim swore, and grabbed Spock, guiding him down to the ground so he wouldn't simply drop and break his neck on the slick rocks. "Spock, Spock,  _Spock_ , please, no…" But Spock didn't respond, and Jim took another approach, following their bond toward Spock's mind, searching him out—but it was blocked off, though not entirely. Something like corroding oil was seeping toward him from Spock's mind, and after years with a similar presence in his own mind, Jim recognized this invasion immediately. The queen was in Spock's head.

He stood up, no longer bothering to be quiet—she obviously knew they were here, knew they wanted to kill her. She was probably in Bhaan's head, too. Jim took a few steps back toward the entrance to the cave and yelled, "Cinna! We need you!" then turned and ran deeper in, weaving around the glowing purple ponds toward what he judged was the center of the cavern, frantically accessing any information he could find in his head about the queen.

Information flowed through his brain— _powerful telepath, continuously pregnant, triple the size of soldier Vehsin, strong, brutal tearing mandibles and claws, wings but could no longer fly, brilliant_ —Jim jerked to a stop in front of a raised outcropping of rock in the center of the cave. There were no pools of water and eggs nearby, so the pedestal was wreathed in gloom. Still, he could see the outline of the queen, how she was inching closer to him with each breath.

"Let them go," he ordered, and was pleased when his voice didn't shake.

"Why?" she buzzed, and Jim shivered. "They try to kill me, Kirk.  _You_  try to kill me."

Jim shook his head and raised his rifle. "I'll kill you now."

There was a hint of ponderous movement, and Jim realized that the queen had shrugged. "If you kill me now, with my mind wrapped around your Vulcan's, he will die with me."

Jim's aim on the rifle faltered slightly, but he took a steadying breath and readjusted his aim. "I don't believe you." Behind him, he heard scrabbling on the rocks—Cinna had joined Bhaan and Spock in the cave. Her voice drifted through the darkness, worried, probably trying to draw Bhaan out of his head.

"Believe what you want," the queen buzzed, then laughed unpleasantly. Jim was used to Bhaan's odd buzzing laughter, and though similar in sound, this was another thing entirely—it echoed in his head and left him feeling cold. His hands shook, and he realized he could feel something freezing trying to worm its way into his mind.

The queen's laughter turned delighted. "You are still connected to our network?" Jim cringed as he felt her sink in deeper, twisting into him, and abruptly he felt his muscles tense and a sharp pain began to grow behind his eyes. He heard the queen laugh out, "You are an idiot," and the words blended from his ears and echoed in his mind. He fell to his knees.

With a monumental effort, he raised his gun and fired blindly, the red plasma bolts lighting up the cave in unpleasant sharp ways, but the pressure in his head did nothing but grow stronger.

i will make your brain melt human you have no chance against me you are weak you deserve to be enslaved deserve to die

Jim felt something pop in his ears and tasted blood in the back of his throat. He made an abortive flail toward the pedestal, dragging himself toward the queen on his hands and knees, and he had the sickening realization that he would  _not make it_. She was killing him and he would never make it, never, never…

But then there was a prickle at the back of his mind, something that was not the queen's invading presence. It was familiar and warm and he grasped at it blindly.

 _/Jim, always and never parted/_  Spock's mind whispered to him, and Jim let out a soft sob.

_/don't leave me/_

_/I promised you I never would/_  and Jim felt warmth curling in his side, a phantom heartbeat under his skin just where Spock's would be. Spock's mind grew more insistent, pushing him forward.  _/kill her, Jim, end this/_

Jim felt a surge of energy and an almost sucking feeling that left him shaking and empty, but the pain he had been suffering was deadened—still there, circling, but he found he could concentrate on other things. He swallowed blood and looked up.

('')

Spock groaned and rocked on the ground, still grabbing at his head. He felt pebbled claws brush lightly against his neck and had a brief flash of a terrified Cinna, unable to withdraw Bhaan from his unnaturally still stupor on the ground nearby.

Spock had other things to worry about.

The queen had stopped speaking to him and he was vaguely aware that her attention was centered on something, someone else. She was still hurting him, though, and he was unable to move. Words were falling unnoticed from his lips, a constant chanting of 'no' and 'Jim' and 'please' and for a moment, he was able to ignore it when the claws on his neck tightened.

But then the nausea ripped through him and he heard Cinna's gravelly mind telling him that she was blocking some of her mother's influence on him and he needed to talk to Jim  _now_  because the closer to the queen you were the more powerfully her telepathy affected you and Jim was  _right there_  and if he wanted to say goodbye to his mate he needed to do it now because Jim was dying.

Spock realized with a jolt that whatever Cinna was doing, she was doing it well enough that he could find Jim through their bond.

Everything became crystal clear and his mind slipped sideways, falling into familiar patterns.

Fact: They were all dying, undoubtedly would not survive more than another few minutes unless something happened  _immediately_.

Fact: Jim was close enough to kill the queen if he could overcome the pain and fire his gun.

Fact: Spock could touch Jim through the bond.

Fact: If he could take some of Jim's pain into himself, it would allow Jim a chance to fire.

 _/Jim, always and never parted/_  Spock projected, and began pulling away his bondmate's pain and fear, sucking it into himself. He felt Cinna's shock course through him when she realized what he was doing, and then her mad scrabble to hide his actions from her mother.

_/don't leave me/_

_/I promised you I never would/_  Spock reached out his hand toward the direction he knew Jim had gone, rested it lightly on the rocks. He could feel a phantom of Jim's heart beating in his chest, and with a final effort, he yanked away Jim's pain, felt his own body rebel from the agony.  _/kill her, Jim, end this/_

He was conscious only long enough to feel Jim's resolve.

('')

There was no time to worry about the queen's claim that her death would kill Spock and Bhaan and Jim himself—they were dead anyway. Jim knew he was already kneeling in a puddle of his own blood, knew somehow that Spock was in a similar (if not worse) state, and there was no way they were going to live the three days it would take for the extraction team to get them out.

So he pushed himself up and seemingly in slow motion, brought up his rifle. He felt a small surge of the queen's alarm in his mind and followed it ruthlessly backward down their mental connection, used her presence to hone in on her exact location on the shadowy pedestal.

He pulled the trigger.

There was a pause and something snapped. Jim arched backward as if he had been the one shot, collapsing on the rocky ground.

The world exhaled, and suddenly where before there had only been a vague awareness of the Vehsin people, of their knowledge, Jim could instead feel their screams, their deaths. And in that moment, he realized what he had done.

He screamed out loud, unable to repress it as the Vehsins in his mind died, as the files of their knowledge that he and Spock had created purged themselves, shredding through all his learned barriers on the way out. He felt the other 'computers' the Vehsins had altered cry out in terror as their blocks were dissolved, felt lower level slaves die, felt the crushing despair of the soldiers, the shock and horror of the commanders.

And then he was alone in his head. He lolled on the ground, unable to force himself up. He was covered in blood and more was steadily dripping from his nose and ears. He coughed and tasted fresh iron. Closed his eyes.

Sometime later he became slowly aware that someone was standing over him. He managed to open one eye and the shape looked down at him in the gloom.

"I am surprised you are alive," Cinna buzzed, and knelt next to him. Jim tried to force his mouth into a blood-stained smile but she ignored him, instead looping her hands under his shoulders and dragging him backward, away from his genocide. Her wings fluttered behind her, trying to aid her in dragging him to wherever it was that they were going.

It was almost twenty minutes before she was able to lay him next to Spock on the ground near the entrance to the cave. Jim inched his hand toward Spock's limp one and laced their fingers together, took at least a little solace in the fact that he could still fell their bond weakly in the back of his mind. Spock wasn't dead—close to it, but they both were. They could tackle this last journey together.

The cave floor was uncomfortable, but it didn't matter. They were together.

('')

Bhaan surfaced to Cinna trailing her claws lightly down his side. She smiled at him.

"Your rebel friends were successful. The queen mother is dead."

Bhaan stared at her, unbelieving for a moment. But when he searched his mind for his mother's familiar and mostly unconscious presence, and found nothing. He sucked in a breath and rolled over, trying to push himself up. Cinna's hand guided him and she warned him that he had lost a fair amount of blood.

"Nowhere near as much as your rebels, though," she added, glancing at the two still forms that lay about ten meters away. "Mother was concentrating on them, not you."

"They're dead?" Bhaan asked, his voice raspy and shocked. Cinna shook her head.

"Not yet. Probably soon, though."

"How did they… what are their injuries?" looking over toward the two men that he had tentatively begun to call his friends. He was still too weak to stand but had an urge to go to them, take their pulses, do  _something_.

Cinna rested her hand on his shoulder and fluttered her wings nervously. "The human directly approached Mother. He was close enough that she was able to assert her mind onto his, and his brain is likely hemorrhaging. The Vulcan used their bond to take the human's injuries into himself, and caused himself damage in that way." She glanced over at them again. "They are tied closely to one another. I believe that when one dies, the other will follow."

Bhaan considered. If he had access to a medical facility, he thought he might be able to stop the bleeding in Jim's brain. But the issue was that they were trapped, barricaded in. And there was no way that Jim and Spock would last long enough for them to wait for the extraction team.

He swallowed. "I'll watch them. Maybe we'll have a chance to get them to a medbay before they die." Cinna made a soft noise of agreement, but neither of them really believed Bhaan's words.

('')

Spock opened his eyes.

He was lying in a field of softly swaying corn and the sun was blazing brightly overhead. He'd never been here before, but knew exactly where he was nonetheless. He sat up.

Jim was kneeling a few meters away, idly pulling weeds from around the base of a corn stalk. He glanced over and smiled. "Hey."

"Hello." Spock looked Jim over—his mate was clean and scar-free, his hair cut as short as it had been while they were aboard the  _Enterprise_ , and he was wearing his gold command uniform. He looked down at himself. He was dressed in familiar blue, with clean, crisp black slacks and shiny black boots. He tilted his head, confused.

"I'm pretty sure we're dead," Jim said conversationally. "Or dying, I don't know. But I  _do_  know we're not on Earth, let alone Iowa, and I can barely remember the last time I wore gold." He pulled another weed. "So…"

Spock pushed himself to his feet and strained slightly to see over the tops of the corn. There was a weathered farmhouse in the distance, and further still rose the scaffolds of the Riverside shipyard. "We may be dreaming," he said contemplatively, turning to Jim. "Something our minds are creating to give us a semblance of peace as we…"

Jim nodded and stood as well. "I always liked the corn fields. You could get lost, you know? No one to bother you." He walked over to Spock and dropped his arms around his shoulders, kissed him lightly on the lips. Spock slid his hands around Jim's waist.

"We were successful?"

With a small nod, Jim smiled tightly at him. "Yea. The queen's dead. I remember…" he trailed off, his brow furrowed. "Cinna talking to me, after? She brought me back to the entrance of the cave. Nothing after that, though. I must have passed out again."

Spock inspected Jim's face. "Aside from the obvious, what is wrong? You are upset."

With another of those tight smiles, Jim looked down. "I felt them," he said softly, finally. "The Vehsins dying in my head when I shot her. And then all the," he gestured to his head. "Everything on them, it erased. It's just me in my head, now." He glanced up, his eyes suddenly too wide for his face. "And you," he added. Spock pulled him into a tight embrace and Jim leaned his head into his neck.

"I killed them all. What if there'd been more like Bhaan and Cinna? But I signed their death warrants, Spock. I'm… I'm no better than Nero."

"No," Spock murmured, tightening his grip. "You are not Nero. He was an insane, remorseless monster. You… your actions were for the good of the galaxy."

He felt Jim shaking his head against his neck. "I still committed genocide."

Spock had nothing to say to this—Jim's statement was accurate. He sighed as the weight of what they had done settled on him.

"I love you, regardless."

Jim pulled back and smiled at him. "I know. And hey," he glanced around at the Iowa afternoon. "This won't last much longer, right? We're pretty badly injured in the real world. Might as well enjoy it while it lasts."

"Indeed," Spock agreed, and Jim let him go but then grabbed his hand and started towing him toward the farmhouse.

"Let me show you around."

After a few minutes of walking, they came upon a low-roofed barn that Spock hadn't seen over the tops of the corn. Jim pulled the doors open to reveal a fully-stocked mechanic's bay. "I spent a lot of time here," he told Spock. "More time, really, than I did in the house. Frank mostly left me alone when I was working on things, and our neighbor got me interested in the mechanics of cars and speeders. It was a good outlet." He smiled at Spock. "Wanna take the motorcycle for a spin?"

"That would be most acceptable," Spock said with a small smile, but then winced and touched his cheek. When he drew his hand away, his fingertips were bloody. "Jim," he said, his voice flat. "Something is wrong."

"We're in a hallucination on the edge of death, of course something's wrong," Jim said, his voice light, but when he looked at Spock, his eyes widened. "You're bleeding." He reached out, closing the distance between then, but suddenly sucked in a breath and grabbed his arm. "Spock…"

Spock saw red blood seeping through the sleeves of Jim's command gold shirt and took a step closer, needing to touch—

Jim vanished.

"No," Spock whispered, and closed his eyes. Jim was  _not_  dead, he could feel his mind, could feel his  _fear_ … He forced himself to become aware of his true surroundings and slowly the Iowa farm, the barn, the corn and the sunshine disappeared. He was lying on the hard floor of the queen's birthing cave and Jim was screaming next to him.

('')

Bhaan and Cinna were discussing the rebel's extraction plan when a screeching, grinding noise came from the queen's viewing room. They both snapped their heads around, scrambling for their rifles.

"Not already, surely?" Cinna asked, and Bhaan shook his head.

"It's unlikely. Perhaps it is our brothers."

There was silence from the outer room and they had enough time to glance at one another before a silhouette appeared in the entrance to the cave. They both took unconscious steps backward, and Penna stepped forward, mirroring their movements, a large and unhinged smile on her face.

"Cinna, my sister," she buzzed. Cinna remained silent, watching her, and Penna scoffed. "I cannot believe you have thrown yourself in with the losing side."

"We've won already," Bhaan interjected. "The queen mother is dead."

Penna smiled again. "The scum speaks. If I had known what an inconvenience you would be to me, I would have killed you that first day." She took a step closer, and this time, Bhaan stood his ground, though he cocked his rifle. "Thrown you out an airlock, watched the vacuum of space rip your organs out," Penna continued, a faraway look on her face. She abruptly refocused on them.

"Circumstances have changed, my siblings. I was planning on killing the queen mother anyway, but you've done it for me. Granted, not the most well-timed assassination, but one does what one can." She glanced around the cave. "I will need help rebuilding the empire. The first task, Cinna, is to reassert our control over our conquered peoples. And I will begin birthing a new army. Bhaan, as frustrating as you have been, your intelligence has proven itself superior to other males, so you may be pardoned in order to become a consort."

Bhaan and Cinna looked at one another, then back to her. "Why would you assume that you would become the next queen?" Cinna asked mildly, taking a step closer to her and also cocking her rifle. "I have equal right."

Penna paused, as if the thought that Cinna was a threat to her ascension had never occurred to her. She looked sharply at her sister. "You would challenge me?"

Cinna lifted her chin defiantly, and Bhaan nodded as well. "You're insane, Penna," Cinna said, still in that same placating voice. "We've lost. We cannot rebuild our empire. The people that we've subjugated don't deserve what we've done to them. There is no benefit to maintaining the course we've been on. We should learn to work with them, instead."

Penna stared at them, her mandibles clicking wildly, pure shock on her face. " _I'm_  insane? Have you… have you  _seen_  who our conquered  _are_?" She spun and strode over to where Jim and Spock were lying unconscious on the ground and knelt next to them. "Kirk and Spock," she buzzed lowly. "The two most dangerous men in the universe," (she glanced up at Bhaan and Cinna, who were watching her with wide eyes) "and they are broken. Can be broken further, even."

She reached out a surprisingly delicate claw and trailed it slowly down Spock's cheek. A line of green blood appeared, and in his unconscious state, Spock frowned slightly. Penna looked back up at her siblings and said, "Such a light touch breaks their skin, and you say that we should  _work_  with them, with these… these  _weak, useless_  creatures. I can break them with one hand." She latched a claw around Jim's right arm, directly above his elbow.

"Leave him alone," Bhaan warned. "It's over, Penna. Just let them lie in peace."

Penna tightened her claws and blood began to swell to the surface of Jim's arm. "I don't see why I should," she said, then laughed harshly. "I'm avenging  _Mother_ , after all." She looked down and flexed her fingers, digging in deeper, something not entirely sane flaring in her black eyes. She whispered to no one in particular, "We can quarter them and drag their mangled bodies through the streets. Our brothers will cheer."

Jim's eyes suddenly flew open and he cried out, trying to pull his arm away, but Penna just clawed in deeper, smearing his blood along the floor of the cavern. There was a sickening crack of his bone breaking and Jim screamed again, writhing now, clawing at her hand in an effort to make her release him.

Bhaan and Cinna, jolted out of their shock by the noises of Jim's agony, lifted their rifles and aimed at the same moment that Spock opened his eyes. With a swift movement, he sat up and pulled Jim's gun from his holster, placing it almost delicately on Penna's temple. It precisely mirrored the spot where Jim had been shot all those years ago.

"Release him." Spock's voice was thick and blood spilled past his lips with his words, but his eyes were clear. "Immediately."

Penna bared her sharp teeth and tightened her grip. Spock cocked an eyebrow and pulled the trigger.

The energy bolt knocked Penna backward, tearing her claw away from Jim's arm, which was now hanging uselessly at his side. Spock didn't even bother to watch her fall, simply dropped the gun and turned to Jim, touching his face with gentle fingers. His lips moved with soft words that Bhaan and Cinna couldn't hear, his fingers sliding with practiced ease onto apparently specific spots of Jim's face. Human and Vulcan met one another's eyes for a split second, then they simultaneously slumped over onto the cave floor, again unconscious.

After a moment of silence, Cinna tore her eyes away from Penna's twisted body and turned to Bhaan. "What just happened?"

"I have absolutely no idea," he said. "But Penna had to get in here somehow. The barricade is likely broken. We should get them to a medbay before they bleed to death."

Cinna nodded and flew off in search of something to transport them with—while they could probably move Jim by themselves, Spock's body mass was too high for them to easily carry. Meanwhile, Bhaan staggered over to where they were laying on the ground (kicking Penna's body out of the way as he went) and ripped off a piece of his tunic to fashion into a rough tourniquet for Jim's arm, which was still bleeding heavily. After a moment of hesitation, he tightened it enough that he knew he would have a hard time saving Jim's arm—but rather lose an arm than bleed out, he reasoned.

There was a shuffle from the cave entrance and Cinna reappeared with a dolly that the slaves had used to bring food to the queen's chambers. "It is the best I could find," she told him, and Bhaan simply shrugged and began levering Jim onto the cart.

"We should hurry," he said.

('')

Spock woke with a start when Bhaan and Cinna unceremoniously dumped him onto a cold metal table in what was probably a Vehsin medbay. The surge of adrenaline he had forced upon himself in order to kill that last Vehsin had left him aching and sick to his stomach, and he honestly could not understand why his body was compelling him to be awake at the moment. Groggily, he mentally surveyed his injuries and came to the somewhat confusing conclusion that there was no rational explanation for his consciousness.

But then he felt it—seeping through their bond (past the still agonizing pain) he could feel Jim shaking, terrified. With effort, Spock turned his head and blurrily watched as a Vehsin (probably Bhaan, though he was too muddled to be sure) clamped something shiny and metallic around Jim's upper right arm (the blood that was pouring out of the lacerations on his arm slowed, then stopped) and moved to the head of his bed. With effort, Spock lifted a hand—perhaps to try to stop whatever the Vehsin was doing to Jim, perhaps simply to get Jim's attention—he was unsure. But the Vehsin ignored him, instead pulling out a vicious-looking implement that resembled an ancient human bone-spreader.

Jim jerked against his restraints and screamed.

Bhaan's usually unreadable face took on a rather annoyed cast. "Stop, Kirk. It's Bhaan, I am trying to help."

Spock could feel Jim's surging panic, his silent screams of  _notagain no nono_ , and tried to calm him, tried to reassure him that it was Bhaan and Bhaan would not hurt them. He was mostly unsuccessful—Jim was terrified enough that Spock was having a difficult time communicating, and Bhaan was not helping by moving clatteringly around Jim's head.

He tried again to reach over, but their biobeds were too far apart and Spock could not force his legs to move. "Jim," he breathed, and Jim turned wide, scared eyes to him.

"No, Spock, don't let them," he moaned, and near the head of the bed, Bhaan made an exasperated noise. He grabbed Jim's face, perhaps slightly too hard, and forced him to look at him.

"You have internal injuries. I must stop the bleeding or you will die. If you do not calm yourself, you will accelerate the bleeding and I have no sedatives with which to put you under. You will kill both yourself and your mate. So shut. up. and let me work."

Jim swallowed, but stilled. Bhaan shook his head and circled back to the top of Jim's bed, producing a complex-looking instrument that he directed at Jim's skull. Spock watched as Jim stiffened, and felt a new surge of fear rip through toward him down their bond. He breathed out a Romulan curse, wishing he could do something, and suddenly felt a presence at his side.

He looked up to see Cinna standing over him, pointing a similar instrument at his own head. "Remain still," she muttered. "Your internal injuries are less severe than Kirk's, but they nonetheless require immediate attention. Bhaan has instructed me…" She clicked her mandibles in a concentrated way and Spock winced as a high pitched whine assaulted his ears.

Seemingly hours later, the whine stopped and Cinna stepped back, clicking something to Bhaan in their language. He replied, distracted, and Spock looked over, noting with dismay Jim's pale face and sharp, shallow breathing. Spock looked back to Cinna. "Please, let me…" he croaked out, and she looked at him, confused. He reached out again, ineffectively, toward Jim. Her face cleared in understanding and she pushed his biobed closer to Jim's.

Finally able to reach out and touch, Spock laid his hand on Jim's wrist, but received no response. He was immediately alarmed and after a moment realized that he could not feel the movement of Jim's blood in his hand. He craned his neck to look at Bhaan, who was now apparently finishing whatever it was that he had been doing to Jim's head.

"He will lose his arm," Bhaan said flatly. "But I had to make the choice between stopping the bleeding in his brain or saving an appendage."

"Your choice was logical," Spock forced out, and Bhaan nodded.

"I apologize, but you must move. I need to amputate."

('')

Three days later, Spock was sitting next to Jim's biobed, running a hand through blonde hair. Jim's eyes were closed, deep in a sort of guided healing trance, though he occasionally still winced in pain, even this far under. Spock watched him tiredly—he had not slept since he had reawakened in the medical bay.

Spock let his eyes drift toward the heavily bandaged place where Jim's arm used to be, and like always, felt as if something thick and hairy was trying to claw its way out of his throat. He swallowed down the feeling and dropped his hand to Jim's face, searching along their bond for a moment and relaxing slightly when he felt Jim's answering consciousness.

Somehow, miraculously, they were alive. Beaten badly, yes, but alive. Jim's injuries—he couldn't think about right now. His own were less severe, though he still couldn't support his own weight, and his thoughts seemed more sluggish than they had previously. He was fairly certain he was suffering from some measure of brain damage. But it was pointless to speculate now—he would have no way to assess the full damage until Leonard was able to look at him.

Bhaan and Cinna were both barely hanging on, having been their only protection from the now-increasingly listless groups of soldiers still roaming the palace. Yesterday, one of Bhaan's antennae had been severed in a fight between a few of the remaining commanders, and his movements were now lethargic. He kept running into things, as if he was unable to properly gauge distances. And when he fired his rifle, he now only had a roughly forty-three percent chance of hitting his target, compared to his previous eighty-seven. As a result, Cinna was their major line of defense. She also had not slept for approximately three days, and the wear was beginning to show.

Spock watched them buzz quietly to one another across the medical bay, and hoped the extraction team would find them soon.

He drifted for awhile, half-conscious and peripherally aware of Jim's presence in his mind.

When Spock opened his eyes, Bhaan was standing next to him, checking on Jim's bandages. The Vehsin glanced at him, then looked away hurriedly.

"I am not upset with you," Spock said slowly, and Bhaan reluctantly met his eyes. Spock continued, "On the contrary, I owe you much. You saved both our lives."

"Kirk is mutilated." Bhaan's voice was flat, clearly upset. "If I had shot when Penna entered the birthing room…"

Spock raised an eyebrow. "The one who injured Jim—that was Penna?"

Bhaan stared at him, disbelieving. "You didn't realize who she was? She—you killed her. She was by far the most dangerous of all of us, after the queen. And she hated you, had been searching for you and Kirk for months." He let out a low, buzzing laugh. "You didn't even realize…"

Spock cocked his head. "I had never seen her. How was I to know who she was?"

Bhaan laughed again and clicked his mandibles. "Just. She  _hated_  you and Kirk, thought you were the most dangerous men in the universe! And you didn't even know who she was!" He sat heavily on the next biobed over and scrubbed his hand over his eyes. "It is fitting that she was killed by someone who cared less for her than she would for a maggot."

"If anything," Spock said contemplatively, "Penna is owed a debt of gratitude from the free galaxy. Had she not attempted to frame you for murder, none of the resulting events would have had any chance of happening."

Bhaan laughed harder and from across the room, Cinna shot them a confused look.

('')

It had been six days since Jim killed the queen. Spock was slumped in his chair next to Jim, a rifle clutched loosely in his exhausted hands. They'd had to hold off a contingent of Vehsin second levels the night before, and Spock's shoulder had been grazed by a plasma bolt. Jim was still unconscious, heavily sedated via a mindmeld so he wouldn't reopen his wound again. Bhaan was also unconscious, having taken the brunt of the previous night's attack. He had been shot five times, though Cinna claimed that none of his injuries were lethal. One of Cinna's wings had been shredded, and she was now alternating between attempting to care for Bhaan and Spock and shaking nearly uncontrollably in the corner.

Six days. Spock was beginning to give up hope. They certainly wouldn't survive if they were attacked again.

Just as Spock had that thought, there was a resounding crash from the hallway outside their barricade. Spock let out a small whimper before he could stop himself but raised his rifle regardless, pointing it at the doorway. No one else in the room moved, and Spock's hand was not steady.

But then—

"Admiral! We've found them!"

Gentle human hands relieved Spock of his rifle and guided him onto a stretcher. Briefly, Spock registered Sybok's bearded face hovering over him, worried; McCoy, white-faced and swearing; Stonn, stoic but with eyes slightly too wide.

And he was being jostled down a hallway—there was phaser fire and an explosion and then his molecules were separating and he passed out.

('')

The next few weeks were blurry. Spock drifted in and out of consciousness, vaguely aware that McCoy had fitted him with a neural regenerator. Through their bond, he was aware that Jim was in a similar state of non-reality, though now that they were in McCoy's capable hands, neither of them were in any sort of pain.

It was ship's night when Spock finally opened his eyes and was cognizant of what was happening around him. He blinked and shook his head, propping himself up on his elbows. There was a shuffle, then a dim light switched on and a haggard-looking McCoy glowered down at him.

"Finally."

Spock just looked at him, relieved to see his friend in one piece. McCoy scowled back, then rolled his eyes.

"You'll be fine. I had to do some repairs to some of the connections in your head, ya damn fool, and you were burnt and blasted enough that that you needed some skin grafts, but…" his face softened slightly. "You'll be fine."

Spock looked over at the bed next to him. Jim was sleeping, the machines above his head beeping softly. There was a stark white bandage covering the shortened stub of his arm, which now ended right above his elbow. He stared for a beat too long, but turned back to McCoy when he felt the doctor press his hand into his shoulder.

"Pretty obvious I couldn't save his arm," he said gruffly, though his voice cracked slightly, which Spock tactfully ignored. "Bhaan kept him from bleeding out, though. It was some pretty good front-line medwork, but don't tell the bug I said it." He sighed and leaned against Spock's biobed. "He also stopped the bleeding in both your brains, though I had to go back in and clean up."

"Will he—" Spock croaked, then cleared his throat and accepted a glass of water that McCoy hurriedly offered him. He tried again. "Will Jim be fully functional?"

McCoy nodded. "Stonn's working on a mechanical arm. It should be ready later today. He's…" he smiled slightly to himself (Spock raised an eyebrow) and rubbed his hand through his hair. "He's very good with robotics. The replacement should give Jim full range of movement, sensation, everything."

"That is remarkable," Spock muttered. "How long has it been since our extraction?"

"Ten days." Spock gave him an incredulous look and McCoy frowned. "I kept you idiots sedated. You needed to heal."

Spock nodded, though he wished he had been awakened earlier. "The war?" he asked, after a moment of silence.

"As good as over," McCoy told him. "It took a few days to break through the defenses after they realized what was happening, which is why it took so long to get to you. The second-levels fought harder than I think Bhaan had anticipated. He's pretty broken up, actually—we lost a good number of soldiers."

He swallowed and glanced over at the darkened side of the medbay. "I'm not sure if Sulu's going to make it—we had to emergency beam his crew out, and… we lost Keenser and Riley. Chekhov's still unconscious, but he'll live. Uhura was shot, but she's doing as well as could be expected. Sybok's fine, but I think Scotty's in shock. I'm having a hard time getting a hold of him."

"That is most unfortunate," Spock muttered, and McCoy made a soft noise of agreement.

"Total loss was less dead than I expected, though. Four ships were destroyed on the flight in, but we were able to beam out most of their crews… and once on the planet, our losses were pretty low. The Vehsins were disorganized."

Spock nodded, and they fell silent. Finally, McCoy stood up. "I'll let you sleep."

He was almost out of the medbay before Spock found his voice. "Where are we?"

"On Pike's ship," McCoy said, pausing in the doorway. "Headed back to Earth."

"Ah."

McCoy searched his face. "You'll be all right," he repeated. "So will Jim."

With another nod, Spock leaned back, feeling exhausted even from this short talk. "Thank you, Leonard."

There was a moment of silence, then the door swished shut. Spock rolled over and watched Jim through the darkness of the medbay, watched the rise and fall of his chest, watched the subtle flutter of his eyes when he eventually passed into REM sleep.

It was over.

('')

The most prevalent feeling with the loss of the Vehsins was one of confusion. There was happiness and rejoicing as well of course, but the Vehsins has so fully trampled on the inhabitants of the galaxy that with the sudden almost absolute loss of their presence, the initial response was chaos.

Somewhat surprisingly, Pike's wartime agreements with the Klingons helped restore at least a semblance of order. As a people, the Klingons were perhaps some of the least affected by the Vehsin occupation therefore were on the forefront of the relief efforts, offering (albeit somewhat reluctantly) to transport goods and people throughout space. They were also a major factor in mopping up the remnants of the Vehsins commanders.

Most members of the beings who had made up the Federation were distrustful of the Klingons' willingness to help, especially Admiral Pike.

Pike had been thrust into a position of rather surprising power. As the loosely recognized leader of the rebels, and the commander of the war heroes Kirk and Spock, as well as one of the only beings that the surrendering Vehsin princess (now queen) Cinna would talk to, he was mediating relations between various governments that had sprung up on Earth as the remaining Vehsins were shipped off the planet.

He had made it abundantly clear to Spock and Jim that he already hated it.

"I don't understand," he groused one afternoon at Spock and Jim while visiting the small apartment they were for the moment calling home. "We're reforming governments—but half of the countries had puppet politicians put in place by the Vehsins, and the other half are mostly in ruins. We're trying to hold elections and I've got people calling for Cinna's execution, for war trials, everything—meanwhile we've got food and housing shortages that need to be sorted out and I'm a military man, I don't know how to do this."

"President Alaris is not a puppet, is he?" Spock asked, his eyes fixed on the inner workings of Jim's new arm, which was currently disconnected and lying in front of him. Stonn had left him instructions on repair and Spock was determined to inspect the new appendage closely. Jim was peering over his shoulder, occasionally asking for clarification as Spock inspected each circuit.

"No," Pike admitted. "And he's been a huge help. Wartime president, elected in secret on an occupied planet? He's the reason the Russian State is running as well as it is—and China is close behind. They're holding elections this week. I'm getting the feeling that the US isn't going to be the US anymore, though. They've got about ten different factions going, some calling for Cinna's head, some wanting a full pardon, some wanting to secede from the Federation entirely. It's a mess."

"And then you've got the Klingons," Jim muttered, and wandered toward the replicator, clumsily punching in the code for a cup of coffee with his left hand. "Being all friendly and suspicious…"

" _That_  is easier for me to handle," Pike agreed, and accepted the cup when Jim handed it to him. "I know how to deal with Klingons, all I've  _done_  is deal with Klingons. It would be helpful if we could get the Vulcans back, though. Ambassador Spock would be a godsend."

"We received a message from Stonn and Doctor McCoy yesterday," Spock told him, glancing up. "They are reporting progress in the possibility of convincing the remaining Vulcans to return to this sector of space. Apparently T'Pau is amiable to the idea."

"Good, that's good." Pike took a sip of the coffee. "Speaking of progress…" Jim and Spock exchanged a look, and Pike frowned. "You two would be an asset to any diplomatic talks. And I know you don't want to get involved—god knows you've told me fifty times—but we could use you."

Jim smiled tightly. "We made up our minds, Chris. And…" he held up his hand, forestalling any protestations Pike might voice. "We're leaving Earth. In three days, actually. We bought land in the Shknir system on Altus III. We just…"

"We desire to be left alone," Spock finished quietly, and closed the panel on Jim's arm with a snap. Jim walked over to him and trailed his hand along Spock's shoulder for a moment before Spock helped him reattach his arm. Pike watched them with a small frown on his face.

"You boys are galactic heroes," he commented, and they both glanced at him.

"I committed genocide, Chris. Is there gonna be an inquisition about that?" Jim asked after a moment of silence. "Spock was one of the most violent offenders in the entire war. He routinely went against the tenants of his people and violated the minds of prisoners. We killed indiscriminately, disobeyed orders, were reckless, endangered the lives of millions—"

"We do not fit the definition of 'heroes,' Admiral."

"You know neither of you would ever be charged with anything like that—" Pike protested, and they shook their heads in unison.

"Still," Spock said. "Perhaps our actions may be excused. But we simply wish to be left alone, to spend our remaining days peacefully with one another." Standing behind him, Jim made a noise of agreement and grasped Spock's shoulders reassuringly.

Pike glared down at his coffee cup for a moment, but then nodded. "You deserve it."


	19. Epilogue

Spock was lost in thought, slowly picking plet-it'as from the small orchard behind his and Jim's home. He idly contemplated one of the spiky neon pink fruits and placed it gingerly in the basket resting at his feet, only to have their farm's sehlat, E'Tevas, pluck it from the basket and bound away, immensely pleased with himself.

"Cease stealing my fruit," Spock yelled half-heartedly after the young animal, "or you will sleep in the barn tonight."

"Aw, he just wants to play," came a voice from the back of the house, and Spock spun, the smallest of smiles gracing his face.

"You have returned early," he exclaimed, and Jim grinned at him for a second before stepping over the herb garden and sweeping Spock up in a tight embrace. They kissed their hellos, and eventually Spock pulled back with one last squeeze of Jim's shoulders. "You were able to acquire our necessary supplies in so short a time?"

Jim smiled. "I got lucky. Mn'edla had everything we needed at her store, so I didn't even have to go to Denbid. It makes things significantly easier if we only have to go to one town instead of two." He let his eyes trail over Spock's body. "Now, I've been gone for a week. Let's go inside and you can welcome me properly."

Spock hummed in agreement and grabbed Jim by the hand, practically dragging him toward the door. Jim let himself be pulled, laughing, but then stopped short as they passed the communicator in their living room, halted by its steadily flashing red light.

"Wait, wait," he said, and Spock turned to him, exasperated. "We've got a priority message." Spock shot an impatient look at the comm screen, but then crossed his arms and waited. Jim shook his head good-naturedly and pressed the answer button, grinning as Chris Pike's face appeared on the screen.

"Jim, Spock! Good to see you!"

Spock inclined his head as Jim enthused loudly next to him. "Admiral. How may we help you?"

Pike smiled at them. "I'm in orbit. I was wondering if you had time to talk?"

Jim leered. "Well Spock and I were just about to—"

"We have no pressing engagements," Spock interrupted. He glanced at Jim. "Our planned activities may be postponed with no trouble." Jim rolled his eyes but then grinned back at Pike again.

"Beam down. You know our coordinates?"

Pike nodded. "I'll be down in five." The screen went blank and Jim turned to Spock, sliding his hands suggestively over Spock's chest.

"Postponed with no trouble, yea?"

Spock raised an eyebrow and straightened his back. "You are the one who wished to answer the communication."

With another laugh, Jim tugged at Spock's shirt and led him toward the front entrance to their home. The halls of their house were light-colored sandstone that had been carved directly from the ground up, in accordance with local building styles. They had large windows and graceful, arching doorways, and very little in the way of technology. It was polar opposite to the starships and bases they had made their homes on for years previous, and both men loved it.

Jim stepped out the front door and onto their porch, a sweeping, shady place that was covered with flowering vines and furnished with comfortable padded chairs. Spock followed closely behind and they came to a stop by the railing around the porch just as Pike materialized in their dirt courtyard, next to the heavily-laden speeder Jim had just returned in.

"Chris!" Jim called out, easily vaulting himself over the railing and striding out to meet the Admiral, a wide smile on his face. Spock followed at a more sedate pace down the stairs and raised his hand in a Vulcan salute when Pike smiled at him.

"It has been too long," Spock said easily. And it had been—almost five years since they had last seen any of their old friends (with the exceptions of McCoy and Stonn, who visited often with news from the new Vulcan colony). Pike nodded, smiling, and Jim invited him inside.

Spock fixed tea for the group—not replicated, they didn't have one of the machines hooked up—while Jim chattered to Pike about farm life and the benefits of living off the grid. E'Tevas slipped into the kitchen and shamelessly begged for a treat like the overgrown pup he was. Jim snuck him a slice of fruit (Spock pretended not to notice) and Pike laughed.

Their conversation was easy, and as the afternoon progressed, Spock and Jim learned that Bhaan and Cinna had been named Ambassadors and that Cinna had abdicated the title of Queen. In general, they were doing well coordinating the remaining Vehsins in the quadrant—it turned out that a few dozen had shared similar ideals as Bhaan and had been helping with the rebuilding efforts.

The major players of the Federation were slowly reestablishing their infrastructures, but the unity they had enjoyed before the Vehsins was barely on the radar now—governments were more concerned about helping their own people than they were with exploration and expansion, these days.

"What about the Klingons?" Jim asked nonchalantly toward the end of the afternoon. Pike paused where he was at the kitchen counter, cutting up a fresh plet-it'as that Spock had rescued from E'Tevas. He smiled tightly, and Spock raised an eyebrow.

"They are abusing their privileges," Spock guessed flatly, and Pike nodded.

"You got it. They're not being quite open about it yet, but they're falling back into old habits—ruling the colonies they've been supporting with more force, and there have been some suspicious attacks. We're worried."

Jim crossed his arms. "This isn't a purely social visit, is it?"

Pike sighed and rinsed off the knife. "No. Starfleet's reforming, and the Admiralty wants you two back. Earth's mostly stable now, and there's only so much we can do with the Klingons." He looked at Jim. "As unorthodox as you may have been when dealing with them, you got results. We need you."

"We told you our answer five years ago, Chris. We just want to be left alone—and we're  _happy_. We have a life here, and a working farm that we can't exactly just abandon." Jim was stiff and defensive, Spock sitting silent and still at their kitchen table.

"I know," Pike said, and held his hands up in surrender. "But I have to ask. We don't have a lot of people to draw from, especially not people who know diplomacy. Most of the beings we've got slated to captain the ships were rebels and didn't have any actual training. You two—"

"We will not be separated," Spock interjected. "Regardless of our decision, we will stay together."

Pike nodded. "We could work with that."

The rest of the night was slightly strained, though Pike had the decency to drop the subject of reenlistment. And when he left, after a dinner of fresh food that had been growing in the ground that very morning, Jim was smiling again and Spock's shoulders were loose.

Pike stood in their courtyard, his communicator in hand. "Think about what I've said." Jim quirked his mouth, and Spock regarded him blankly. Pike nodded, resigned. "One more thing. We're re-commissioning the  _Enterprise_. She'll be smaller, of course. Crew of one hundred. But she's almost finished, and she's yours if you want her."

Spock looked over at Jim, whose mouth had dropped open slightly. When it became apparent that Jim had no response to this, Spock turned back to Pike. "We will consider your words, and will be in touch. Live long and prosper, Admiral."

('')

Spock pulled his mouth off Jim's cock with a wet pop and lifted an eyebrow at him. Jim, breathing heavily, gazed confusedly at him.

"Why did you stop?"

Spock tilted his head and dropped his hand down to continue working Jim. "You are distracted." He nipped lightly at Jim's shoulder, then slightly harder to ensure he had his bondmate's full attention. Jim swatted has ass, but then grabbed him and manhandled him so Spock's knees were on either side of Jim's hips.

"I'm not distracted," Jim countered, and leaned up to set to work returning the favor, sliding his tongue along Spock's length and pressing a finger at Spock's entrance.

Spock shuddered when Jim took his head in his mouth, swirling his tongue just how Spock liked, but shook his head, clearing it. "You are thinking about Pike's offer."

Jim pulled off long enough to mutter, "No spying," before taking Spock in again, pressing forward deep enough so Spock scraped the back of his throat. He simultaneously slid his finger in shallowly, and the dual sensations made it significantly harder for Spock to collect his thoughts.

"I am—" Spock lost his train of thought for a moment, concentrating on Jim's crooking finger and the hot suction of his mouth. "I am not spying. Simply… ah. I am preoccupied, as well." Jim didn't answer him, simply hollowed his cheeks and  _sucked_. Spock bucked into his mouth. "Perhaps this conversation… after…" Jim looked up at him through his eyelashes and nodded while relaxing his throat and letting Spock in deeper. "Yes," Spock moaned, and dropped his hands to Jim's face, sliding easily into a meld. Jim's eyes fluttered shut in pleasure.

He guided Spock's hips down and moved his hand, leaned back (though not breaking the contact of the meld) and opened his eyes to watch as he pushed into Spock's tight body. Spock closed his own eyes and watched the proceedings through the meld, letting himself drown fully in Jim's sensations and desire.

Jim started to move, and their night proceeded, utterly perfect.

Later, they lay in bed with Jim wrapped tightly around Spock's still-too-thin frame (even five years later, he still couldn't seem to force his body to retain a healthy weight). Spock ran a hand through Jim's hair and down his back to his arm, pausing at the junction where Jim's arm gave way to the metal of the replacement. Jim tensed.

"You know that I barely even notice it anymore."

"I am aware. You adjusted remarkably well."

They were quiet for a moment, then Jim unwound himself and leaned over to hover near Spock's face, forcing him to meet his eyes. "If we go back, it's not going to be the same. Starfleet isn't a rebel organization. It'll be safer."

"While perhaps more organized, Starfleet is no safer than any rebel endeavor," Spock said sharply. "You were as good as killed while serving in Starfleet."

Jim flopped over again and stared at the ceiling. Spock watched him apprehensively. Pike's promise of the  _Enterprise_  may have been more influential than the Admiral had realized.

"I don't want to go," Jim said finally. "I love it here. I love our farm, and our cows, and E'Tevas, and the fields, and the air and even the stupid tribbles that we can't get to stop burrowing around our corn." He rolled over and stroked a hand down Spock's side. "But I miss space sometimes."

"As do I," Spock admitted after a lengthy pause.

"What should we do?" Jim looked miserable and Spock reached out, brushing hair out of his eyes. It was too long again. Jim smiled at him and laced their fingers. "Would you want to be a captain again?"

Spock shook his head. "I was never meant to be captain of the  _Enterprise_."

Jim searched his face, then abruptly pulled himself close. Spock wrapped his arms around his back and held him tight. "Were you meant to be her First?" Jim breathed into his neck. After a moment, Spock made a soft noise of agreement.

It appeared that they had made up their minds.


End file.
